tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56782480801749480772024-02-07T21:13:12.862-08:00Letters from the Lake DistrictAlan Cleaver writes about life in England's Lake District. @thelonningsguyAlan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-83884392273372479752023-01-02T06:40:00.002-08:002023-02-16T09:09:27.264-08:00Postman's Paths<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXo5CPUqrWH52ZD6_-o_xxbTdvm3osmsn8-I_FkkuStDhA9bkJfwVrN2KZrbji6S_nbkB0A6NmB-hfapc7f63W6IMEjRiOMP1eUNEIUrzwFP7uKme_03pIG5syRVRbLaZ9v9NatMFSr4oHqHsvg1-vPvQobySgET12PwXfe3omnmm7s_4EoVr8Yi9_/s1602/holmrookpost.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1602" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXo5CPUqrWH52ZD6_-o_xxbTdvm3osmsn8-I_FkkuStDhA9bkJfwVrN2KZrbji6S_nbkB0A6NmB-hfapc7f63W6IMEjRiOMP1eUNEIUrzwFP7uKme_03pIG5syRVRbLaZ9v9NatMFSr4oHqHsvg1-vPvQobySgET12PwXfe3omnmm7s_4EoVr8Yi9_/s320/holmrookpost.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Postman's Path at Holmrook, Cumbria</div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">MY tweet on 1st January 2023 sparked rather more interest than I expected in my latest project to rediscover and walk some of the Postman's Paths in Great Britain so I thought I had better breathe new life into this blog with some background on the subject.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Who am I?</b> Alan Cleaver - a former journalist, now an author of books on local walks in my home county of Cumbria. I've previously published 'Corpse Roads of Cumbria' and 'Get Lost' in addition to other books and booklets.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>What is a Postman's Path? </b>A path used by rural postmen and women up until the 1970s (when the Post Office decided to deliver everything by van - bikes were phased out in 2014) to reach remote farms and homes. Although I use the term 'postmen' for brevity there were just as many 'postwomen'; 'Postie' is a more generic term used in some parts of the UK. The paths often already existed but in some instances they were officially or unofficially created as short-cuts by the postman. Most paths were about 10 or 12 miles long but some were 18 miles or more. Some were circular routes and other linear - the postman returning the same way he came later in the day. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Why are they of interest? </b>Simply because many of them are nice walks. But the rural postman has played an important part in the country's social history and their routes and work should probably be recorded.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Is there a Postman's Path near me? </b>Almost certainly but there is no catalogue or gazetteer listing them all. Start by asking your local history society or older postmen. Rural postmen had route cards which defined the precise routes they had to take but very few of these remain. Your local archive office may have newspaper cuttings or books detailing the lives of the rural postmen and women in your area. Some work is involved but the exciting thing is that this is your chance to be the first to record and walk many of these paths.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>How can I walk Postman's Paths around the UK? </b>A number of old postal paths have been promoted as tourist walks. Scotland has stolen the march on this and <a href="https://scotways.com/heritage-paths/" target="_blank">ScotWays </a>lists a number of postman's paths as part of its Heritage Paths project. You'll also find some Cumbrian ones detailed by me in my book, Get Lost. I've also included one or two on this blog (see entry below). I hope to publish a book specifically on Postman's Paths early in 2024.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>I've found a Postman's Path near me. What should I do now? </b>Spread the word! Certainly, write up your research and detail the route. Log this with your local history society so it's preserved for future generations. Then set about promoting the walk in your community; perhaps the local council or tourist authority would be happy to help (see what has been achieved at Stiperstones, Shropshire with <a href="https://sproson.com/elsies-walk" target="_blank">Elsie's Walk</a>).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Useful links:</b></span></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: georgia;">My <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/edit?mid=1JCki2mTPUtOfoAL3aSqIhRqkKYCFeo1X&usp=sharing" target="_blank">Google map </a>of references I've found about Postman's Paths in the UK and intend to follow up.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia;">An article about the project published in <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2022/sep/05/posties-paths-britons-who-delivered-mail-by-foot-sought-for-new-book" target="_blank">The Guardian</a> in 2022.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: georgia;">A typical <a href="http://lakedistrictletters.blogspot.com/2022/08/boot-postmans-path.html" target="_blank">Postman's Path</a> - this one from Boot, Eskdale, Cumbria</span></li></ul><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-78781226109112308082022-08-29T05:53:00.004-07:002022-08-29T06:05:43.542-07:00Boot Postman's Path<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I am researching the Postman's Paths of old - those paths taken by rural postmen to shortcut between farms and rural homes. They ceased to be used in the early 1970s when Royal Mail decided to use vans instead. This is the one that postman Ben Vicars served in the 1940s and 1950s in Boot, Eskdale, Cumbria. I've sketched it out as a short walk (it takes two to three hours and is easy to follow). I'm posting it here so people can try it out - let me know what you think! (<a href="mailto:alanjcleaver@gmail.com">alanjcleaver@gmail.com</a>). P.S. There is also a high-res version <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/1iQ05dISDooK1fvrIiq9eznY_4h20oWhu/view?usp=sharing" target="_blank">here that you can download and print</a>.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRCvDpx-U6ju_Hjd2GDYRpYXqPpY6eRtp1qwmDp_WI6CY6LLsxmU8dO1JBJJKqJwpIl7Yhqn0kozhJOWv6c0Vmj0-iUneVmF6XVVkcZbEcfeWnZ_MZxCP_A8ZoLDu_JG5BGKWGUcKGdDROMXsrndpkcJ4AaN37EF_qs9aqgl6IG99FtdJlgdXE4MbT/s3432/bootpath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3432" data-original-width="2480" height="582" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRCvDpx-U6ju_Hjd2GDYRpYXqPpY6eRtp1qwmDp_WI6CY6LLsxmU8dO1JBJJKqJwpIl7Yhqn0kozhJOWv6c0Vmj0-iUneVmF6XVVkcZbEcfeWnZ_MZxCP_A8ZoLDu_JG5BGKWGUcKGdDROMXsrndpkcJ4AaN37EF_qs9aqgl6IG99FtdJlgdXE4MbT/w420-h582/bootpath.jpg" width="420" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p>Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-25363574193074881342020-09-25T05:37:00.002-07:002020-09-25T05:37:43.311-07:00Visible Music - a review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2SA28MgdZYIWToF_5M9X3VYVKZnQ-XqSNw5VdmfpgxwNQcpNxAWRSbI9bMYZigm-Jwo-vfFtdUf25oAXVDuKw0sT2IaxvFxl_JA4YfnCatftHwHLGXI5usbMD8EupnF06A7zQSe99-OE/s1442/martyn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1442" data-original-width="945" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2SA28MgdZYIWToF_5M9X3VYVKZnQ-XqSNw5VdmfpgxwNQcpNxAWRSbI9bMYZigm-Jwo-vfFtdUf25oAXVDuKw0sT2IaxvFxl_JA4YfnCatftHwHLGXI5usbMD8EupnF06A7zQSe99-OE/s320/martyn.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I'm not sure how I would react if my doctor told me I had a life-threatening illness but I would probably run away to some Scottish island. That's what poet Martyn Halsall did and it's an understandable reaction. </p><p>While there he recorded in poems his thoughts and emotions about the cancer - and about the world he saw around him.</p><p>Thankfully his cancer is now in remission and, also thankfully, he has published those poems in a collection called, <i>Visible Music</i>.</p><p>There's something voyeuristic in reading over Martyn's shoulder his most intimate and personal thoughts during those dark days but there is fortunately also much light to be found in the poetry. </p><p>To many people Martyn already lives in a distant and remote place (Santon Bridge in West Cumbria) so probably had no need to seek out some Scottish island. But a thin place on the edge of the world is precisely where you need to be to face life - and death - full in the face and try to make sense of the world.</p><p>These poems are not all about cancer and all the dread that six-letter word brings. Many talk about the beauty of the natural world, the history and culture of places Martyn finds on his pilgrimage and celebrate the landscape's flora and fauna.</p><p>I have said before that it is Martyn's eye for detail which makes his poetry sparkle. Perhaps it is the former journalist in him which enables him to see in a crumbling building, a weathered sign or the face of a lone traveller the inspiration for his poetry. Martyn recognises, as Blake wrote, that you can see heaven in a wild flower and infinity in the palm of your hand. And so a stray Biro "loaded with words", nasturtium seeds or a tea-stained mug all offer doorways into the strange, wonderful and scary world that Martyn must encounter on his journey.</p><p>It is one we know we will all face at some point in our lives so <i>Visible Music</i> in one sense is a guidebook that will be a welcome companion. This collection may have its roots in a dark day but it is overall a celebration of our world and our lives which readers will want to keep close; a reminder, if one is needed, of all we should be grateful for.</p><p><i>Visible Music </i>by Martyn Halsall is published by Caldew Press, £9 and is available from Martyn on martynhalsall22@gmail.com.</p><p><br /></p>Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-64494282129128510602020-07-05T04:04:00.000-07:002020-07-05T04:04:45.271-07:00The true Loweswater corpse road<font face="georgia">THE first edition of our book, Corpse Roads of Cumbria, repeated the mistake that the corpse road from Loweswater towards St Bees went along the side of the valley. This was an error promoted by the National Trust but diligent historical research by Dr Roger Asquith has shown it actually goes along the bottom of the valley through Holme Wood. This makes sense and it actually makes a nice circular walk, going along the corpse road and then coming back via the valley-side path. Here is the revised chapter...</font><div><font face="georgia"><br /></font></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZM7NVub9wjMIJdWXZ7dxv0wvK8qsYiSEI5WzOWo9HfxgmoacqM89zUOdb_wM2CZw6Sm34W-sCCFV-l6VAooyQlf_HV42vk-nV2DWj67YlUTWzj-9KPsCqU58U1ViynbG6iSJL_ZDWJiA/s1772/loweswater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1095" data-original-width="1772" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZM7NVub9wjMIJdWXZ7dxv0wvK8qsYiSEI5WzOWo9HfxgmoacqM89zUOdb_wM2CZw6Sm34W-sCCFV-l6VAooyQlf_HV42vk-nV2DWj67YlUTWzj-9KPsCqU58U1ViynbG6iSJL_ZDWJiA/s320/loweswater.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><div><br /></div><div><font face="georgia">THE National Trust and other websites have promoted a path running through High Nook Farm and skirting under Burnbank Fell as the Loweswater Corpse Road. However, we are grateful to Dr Roger Asquith, a retired research engineer with an interest in local history, for discovering this is an error and the path through Holme Wood is almost certainly the true corpse road.</font></div><div><font face="georgia"><br /></font></div><div><font face="georgia">He points out the Loweswater Enclosure map shows the higher path, in 1865/6, whereas the first edition of the Ordnance Survey map (OS1) of 1863/4 did not show it. Hence we know the age of the path to within a year or so. This higher road therefore dates back just over 150 years – some way short of the corpse road era over 600 years ago. Indeed, Dr Asquith also notes that the vicar of Loweswater in 1929 – J Rowland – wrote of “the tradition, which still exists in the parish… the dead from Loweswater used to be carried via the ‘corpse road’ through Holmwood, for burial at St Bees” (A Few Notes on the Church & Parish).</font></div><div><font face="georgia"><br /></font></div><div><font face="georgia">Dr Asquith adds: “The Maggies Lonning - Watergate - Hudson Place - Jenkinson Place - Iredale Place - Fangs path shown on the OS1 (surveyed in 1863/4) was the ancient way on the south side of the lake, linking the habitations before heading off towards Lamplugh. Clear from the maps and on the ground is the fact that this ancient track was well made, well defined and important. Until modern times it had a wall on either side before emerging onto and crossing the common to join the Fangs to Lamplugh road.”</font></div><div><font face="georgia"><br /></font></div><div><font face="georgia">Research by Derek Denman indicates parochial status was granted to Loweswater in 1403 and ‘the dead have not been carried to St Bees for over 600 years’. Dr Asquith adds: “What was formerly The Holme, now Holme Wood, was finally enclosed after much dispute, in about 1597 so, at the time of the corpse road, beyond Watergate lay open common.”</font></div><div><font face="georgia"><br /></font></div><div><font face="georgia">We’re grateful to Dr Asquith for ‘restoring’ the correct corpse road route and there’s an extra advantage: For the most part the corpse road through Holme Wood is a well-made wheelchair-friendly path making it accessible to many more people. It’s only as it climbs towards Fangs Brow that that path gets tougher. The higher path may have been incorrectly promoted as a corpse road but it is nonetheless a path that offers breath-taking views of the fells and you may wish to use it to make your return journey for a different perspective of Loweswater.</font></div><div><font face="georgia"><br /></font></div><div><font face="georgia">Shortly after leaving St Bartholomew’s Church, the corpse road drops down into the valley through Maggie’s Lonning. ‘Lonning’ is a dialect term for ‘lane’ and most of the lonnings surviving in the county are still only footpaths. Maggie’s Lonning is now a tarmacked road but has not lost all of its character. It is a single track road (NY 136 210) that leads to the impossibly-small car park by Loweswater. We suggest only trying to use this car park midweek in the middle of winter. It quickly gets full-up and there is almost nowhere to turn round once you are stuck in the traffic jam. It’s a Lake District feature that needs a serious rethink. There is not much parking elsewhere in the valley so we recommend parking in one of the lay-bys beside the lake or by the side of the road at Fangs Brow (and therefore do the corpse road in reverse). Since the corpse road is essentially one half of a round-the-lake walk it does not matter too much where you start.</font></div><div><font face="georgia"><br /></font></div><div><font face="georgia">This is a lovely walk but there’s not much history or legend to go with it. However author HC Ivison includes an intriguing entry in her book, <i>Supernatural Cumbria</i> (2010) about a ghostly funereal procession apparently witnessed by the lake: “The apparitions of three nuns carrying what appeared to be a shrouded corpse, was a reported unexplained event that made the national newspapers. It was in the early 1920s, and four young ex-soldiers were walking along by Loweswater Lake in the moonlight, when they witnessed this sight. In spite of later ridicule, they held to their story and the fact that they were sober. Frank Carruthers comments that local records attest to an apparently similar apparition being seen by several witnesses some 21 years before, which would make it around the turn of the 19th and 20th Century. There is as far as my present knowledge goes, neither explanation, or any story or legend that might possibly account for these events. Local folklore does talk of monks and a monastery in Loweswater Valley but thus far no mention of nuns.”</font></div><div><font face="georgia"><br /></font></div><div><font face="georgia">It’s a fascinating and suggestive tale but we have been unable to find the report in any newspapers or any mention in the works of Frank Carruthers.</font></div></div><div><font face="georgia"><br /></font></div><div><font face="georgia">Corpse Roads of Cumbria is available from bookshops.</font></div><div><br /></div>Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-37558792771766106092020-06-24T04:01:00.002-07:002020-06-24T04:01:33.898-07:00Passing Place by Martyn Halsall - a reviewPassing Place by Martyn Halsall<br />
Review by Alan Cleaver<br />
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IT must take a certain level of cruelty to send someone in lockdown a book of poems about walking in the open countryside.<br />
But Passing Place by poet Martyn Halsall did at least conjure up those wild parts of Britain I was missing and offered me some solace during those difficult days spent imprisoned in my home.<br />
Halsall, who lives in west Cumbria and was formerly poet in residence at Carlisle Cathedral, is our guide through some of the sacred places to be found in Britain - those 'thin places' where the boundary between the physical world and the spiritual one becomes blurred.<br />
It's not the first time Halsall has found inspiration on his pilgrimages but this collection of around 20 poems seems to offer new depth and insight.<br />
And once again it is his eye for detail which helps us to see in even the most barren landscapes something of beauty or history which can enlighten or inspire us. Halsall can find poetry and meaning even in a discarded piece of blue twine and while holding it up for us to see can pan out to introduce us to the characters and the landscape beyond.<br />
The curious typography of a tombstone, a memorial plaque or copperplate handwriting on old documents all provide a way in to a richer world which will send the reader off to Google (and hopefully post-lockdown to the landscape itself) to discover more. Like the scared places he writes about, it's a world where the spirits of the past wander freely with the living so expect to meet Saints and as easily as you might meet the residents of the Isle of Lewis.<br />
Halsall has been a man of words all his life so it's not surprising to discover he can paint the landscape with just a few strokes of his keyboard - a scrap of land is "an afterthought of Pennines" and there are part-time islands to navigate.<br />
He makes it look easy but I suspect it took more than just dipping a nib to come up with these charming delights.<br />
They are poems you can read once and enjoy but read them a second or third time and you'll start to learn more about these passing places and the stories they have to tell. You'll be grateful for your guide showing you that this is a world full of beauty even during its darkest days.<br />
- Alan Cleaver<br />
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Passing Place is available at £5 (inc p&p) from martynhalsall22@gmail.com.<br />
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<br />Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-35590313482603291742020-04-13T03:51:00.004-07:002020-04-30T00:57:19.900-07:00Postman's Paths<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I WAS introduced to Postman's Paths by historian Tony Vaux of Caldbeck, Cumbria. I was visiting him at his farm just outside Caldbeck and he mentioned the postman's path that went past his home. It was not a term I had heard before but he explained that the postman in the past had short-cutted across the fields when delivering post to the farms that encircle the village. There are places in the drystone walls where you can see the steps added in to aid the postman. These paths had then become recognised public footpaths and registered on OS maps - although it's doubtful that anyone else other than the postman and perhaps the farmers ever used them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On googling the term back home I was delighted to find that a number of people had remembered these 'postman's paths' in various parts of the country - indeed the world. Like most paths, these had been created for a specific purpose by a specific occupation. In Cumbria it's easy to think of peat-cutters paths, drovers roads and miners' trods. Perhaps the most famous Postman's Path is the one at Rhenigidale, North Harris, Scotland which is detailed by the wonderful website, <a href="http://www.heritagepaths.co.uk/pathdetails.php?path=169" target="_blank">Heritage Paths</a>. An idiosyncratic piece of history has been turned into a popular tourist trail, with no doubt a welcome boost to the local economy. In this instance, it's unlikely the postman created the path but he certainly walked it and popularised it. There's a lovely short film available on <a href="https://youtu.be/s9ZhbSKmpLw" target="_blank">YouTube</a> where they interview the former postman, Kenny Mackay.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I included the Caldbeck postman's path and a couple of others in my book, <a href="https://www.bookscumbria.com/cgi-bin/trolleyed_public.cgi?action=showprod_6678" target="_blank">Get Lost</a>, along with a couple more such paths that can be found in Cumbria. Since publishing the book I've also begun researching these paths further and hope we can save more of these before they vanish from history. I doubt any postmen still walk long distances across the fells these days, relying instead on motorised transport. So if we don't record these paths while they're still on the edge of living memory they will be lost for ever. If you know of any, do <a href="mailto:alanjcleaver@gmail.com" target="_blank">drop me a line</a>.</span>Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-22292620855010086982019-07-24T03:16:00.000-07:002019-07-24T03:16:24.142-07:00Companions of Nature<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Companions-Nature-Lake-Poets-Anthology/dp/1999367693/" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="312" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimRhmz7UcIYvCug4Llc3U7xw59s1AzEUoL1SHtUpUgTS1K0zOfL6dZhmQIKGbAhjhuoLwZziQ-7xFDI540IpXWi3wSOy_638byoO6W_xIoojA2no_wJZiNwZeHYug0tnD7qRuIAroBP8c/s320/will.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>"I thought of Nature's loveliest scenes;</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>And with Memory I was there." </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">- Dorothy Wordsworth</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'M very happy to give this 'shout-out' to a much-needed anthology of Lake Poets edited by Will Smith and Polly Atkin. <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Companions-Nature-Lake-Poets-Anthology/dp/1999367693/" target="_blank">Companions of Nature</a> recalls to life some of the shamefully neglected Cumbrian poets and balladeers including Susanna Blamire, Robert Anderson, John Stagg and Sara Coleridge. William Wordsworth is included of course but also Dorothy Wordsworth and a healthy balance of female poets. Robert Southey's <i>The Cataract of Lodore</i> is finally republished alongside other 'lost' classics including Richardson's |It's Nobbut Me and Anderson's<i> The Cummerlan Farmer</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There is occasional dialect but it's soft and something to chew over after the simplicity of the likes of Sara Coleridge's The Months. The poems and their sentiments remain relevant dealing with the beauty - or terror - of the Lake District landscape, love, death, romance and humour. What a delight to see such charming poems as Quillinan's <i>The Birch of Silver How</i> and Blamire's <i>The Siller Croun</i> (<i>And She Shall Walk In Silk Attire</i>).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This is a collection of over 40 poems offering a chance to discover or re-discover Cumbria's finest poets. It's a keepsake for tourists or essential bedside reading for locals. My only criticism is that it would have been nice to have had a short biography and background to the poets. But, hey, that's what Google was invented for!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Companions of Nature: A Lake Poets Anthology </i>edited by Will Smith and Polly Atkin. Published by Rothay Books. Available from Sam Reads Bookshop, Grasmere or <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Companions-Nature-Lake-Poets-Anthology/dp/1999367693/" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, price £6.99.</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-83173842736656499452019-06-20T08:39:00.007-07:002022-04-12T03:46:35.513-07:00Cumbria pace-egg plays<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Cumbria pace-egging</span></h3>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2uzRGTogLmevH70EcTm3m5KTtOj9pAdXtVKoJI1PJjV2uavs3GMTooJN4eT46_JfOhuDud0nC1dzuaV2pRO6OOo39YiwxTP3JAbxL_BRffNrG1RJz3DBylsDqAqp9TIWwRKOoZvHes5c/s1600/pace-eggers.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1167" data-original-width="1600" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2uzRGTogLmevH70EcTm3m5KTtOj9pAdXtVKoJI1PJjV2uavs3GMTooJN4eT46_JfOhuDud0nC1dzuaV2pRO6OOo39YiwxTP3JAbxL_BRffNrG1RJz3DBylsDqAqp9TIWwRKOoZvHes5c/s320/pace-eggers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pace-eggers performing at Ulverston around 1901</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I HAVE no specific interest in pace-egg plays or their winter-time equivalent, mummer plays but they obviously crop up when researching folklore in the county. I've made copies of some of the more obscure texts that survive and publish three of them here just for the fun of it. Pace-egging was usually done at Easter with performers going door to door to enact a piece of doggerel about a hero and villain fighting. The hero was usually 'killed' but then miraculously revived to fight another day. The whole would end with a song and the hat being passed round. The scripts varied from village to village but with common themes. At Christmas the performers would dress up as mummers, wearing brightly-coloured outfits and sometimes blackening their faces. They might perform the same play they did at Easter or a different one.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Flookburgh pace-egg play</span></h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">From Looking Back... Recollections of life in Cark, Flookburgh and District first published in 2008, republished in 2001</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">From the memories of Miss Blanche Stephenson:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Nobody had much holidays then. You haven't got t' paste egging song like we had in them days. You used to dress up and black your face with a bit of cork, then you'd go round singing like you do at Christmas and knock on doors for money or eggs or whatever they'd gie you. Then we used to go on to Robin Howe to roll our eggs."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Flookburgh Paste* Egg Play</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(This should be 'pace' or 'pasche' - Alan Cleaver)</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We are two or three jolly boys</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">All in one mind</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We've come a paste egging</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If you will prove kind</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If you will prove kind with your eggs and strong beer</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We'll come no more paste egging till the next year</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Chorus</b>: With a folda ay oddle ay oddle ay oh</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Folds ay oddle ay a</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The first to come in is Lord Nelson you see</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A bunch of blue ribbon tied to his knee</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A star on his breast like silver does shine</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He hopes you'll remember it's paste-egging time</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Repeat Chorus</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The next to come in is a jovial Jack Tar</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He said with Lord Nelson all during the last war</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He's arrived from sea old England to view</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He hopes you'll remember our jolly crew</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Repeat Chorus</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The next to come in is old Tosspot you see</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He's a valiant old man in every degree</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He's a valiant old man and he wears a pigtail</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And all his delight is in drinking mulled ale</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Repeat Chorus</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The last to come in is old Liza Brown bags</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For fear of her money she wears her old rags</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She's got gold, she's got silver all laid up in store</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She's come a paste egging to try to get more</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Repeat Chorus</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Now Ladies and Gentlemen sitting by the fire</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Put your hands in your pockets that's all we desire</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Put your you hands in your pockets and pull out your purse</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And give us a trifle you'll find it no worse</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Repeat Chorus</span><br />
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ulverston pace-egg play</span></h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This script is from the Feb 1900 edition of the North Lonsdale magazine - a copy of which can be found at the <a href="http://armitt.com/armitt_website/" target="_blank">Armitt Museum and Library</a> at Ambleside. The author is (Rev) T.N. Postlethwaite who Google tells me was Vicar of Urswick, near Ulverston from 1903-26 and an antiquarian.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrPZKFxNAcsdC5GFOO2KPRozOaKTCFySLemZn-4FhAEf9YZwjb2O77fRs4QeZVH5cykN4QdSrQhA3GRcl_RLAh_l4WPCVI6f6W27722Q2zR9gOitys6v7dpj8LJrUOOSnmtoAQALBEuA/s1600/paceeggers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1409" data-original-width="1600" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrPZKFxNAcsdC5GFOO2KPRozOaKTCFySLemZn-4FhAEf9YZwjb2O77fRs4QeZVH5cykN4QdSrQhA3GRcl_RLAh_l4WPCVI6f6W27722Q2zR9gOitys6v7dpj8LJrUOOSnmtoAQALBEuA/s320/paceeggers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>OPENING DITTY</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Here come two or three jolly boys all in one mind,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We've come a pace-egging and hope you'll prove kind,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We hope you'll prove kind with your eggs and strong beer,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And we'll come no more nigh you until the next year.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Fol de ra, fol de riddle la ral li da.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The first to come in is a bold Turkish knight,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">From far distant county quite ready to fight,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He will meet with St. George and will fight with him here,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And show him a hero knows nothing of fear.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Fol de ra, fol de riddle la ral li da.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The next to come in is old Tosspot you see,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A valiant old fellow in every degree,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He's a hump on his back and he wears a pig-tail,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And all his delight is in drinking mulled ale,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Fol de ra, fol de riddle la ral li da.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The last to come in is our Betty Brown Bags,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For fear of her money she goes in old rags,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She's a purse for her money, a basket for eggs,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If you'll give her a trifle it's all that she begs,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Fol de ra, fol de riddle la ral li da.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>PLAY.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Enter Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hello, Hello. In comes I who never came yet,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Big head and little wit, but let my wit be ever so small,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I and my Pompey will wallop you all</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(shakes his stick at audience).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Stir up the fire and strike a light,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For in this house we mean to fight,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If you won't believe the word I say,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In steps S. George and clears the way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Enter S. George).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In steps I, S. George, the noble champion bold,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">With my right hand and glittering sword,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I've won £10,000 in gold,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">'Twas I that fought the fiery dragon and brought him down to slaughter,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And by these means I've won my Queen, the King of Egypt's daughter,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Enter Turk).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In come I bold Turk, brave slasher is my name,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I've fought in many an awful fight, and always won the game.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(S. George)</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The game Sir, the game Sir, its not in thy power,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'll cut thee in slices in less than half an hour,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'll chop thee, I'll chop thee as small as flies,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And send thee over land and sea to make mince pies.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(threatens with his sword).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Bold Turk).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Mince pies hot, mince pies cold,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'll send thee to the Devil before three days are told.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(pulls S. George's nose.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(S. George).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What is that thou say'st?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Bold Turk).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What I say I mean to do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(S. George).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Pull out thy purse and pay.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Bold Turk).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">No, no my lad, before I'll pay</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'll draw my sword and fight my way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(S. George).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(with swagger)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My head is made of iron, my body's made of steel,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My hands and arms are knuckley bones,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'll fight thee on this field.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Bold Turk).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thy challenge is accepted, to thee I'll never yield,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Till thou and I have conquered upon this bloody field)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(They fight, St G. kills B.T.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Enter Betty Brown Bags).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">S. George, S George what hast thou done?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thou'st been and slain my only son,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My only son, my only heir,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Can'st thou not see him bleeding there?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(S. George).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He challenged me to fight and why should I deny?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I've let him see S. George was born to conquer or to die.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(swaggers).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Is there never a doctor to be found,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">To cure this poor man of his deadly wound?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'll give £5, £10, £15 for a doctor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Enter Doctor).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'll not come under £30.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'll give £20 for a doctor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Doctor).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Well as you're only a poor chap,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'll charge you £19 19s 11 3/4d, here I am a rare good hatter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm not in want of a hatter, I want a doctor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Doctor).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">O yes, I'm Jack of all trades and master of none.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">How came you to be a doctor?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Doctor).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">By my travels</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">How far have you travelled?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Doctor).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">From Italy, Spitaly, France and Spain,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Three tmes round the world and back again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What is that all?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Doctor).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh no, I have travelled from the tip-top of the high ocean to 90 degrees below the bottom, where I saw houses built of rounds of beef, pancakes for slates and black puddings for nails. I saw also pigs running about the streets with knives and forks in their jaws, crying out "eat me, eat me; here is a living, who would die?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What is that all?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Doctor).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh no, as I was walking up St. Paul's churchyard even the very dead rose up crying out after me "Doctor, Doctor, give me one of your never failing pills, a real awakener," I have pills for the complexion; if you rub them in at night tho' you are as red as beetroot in the morning you'll be white. They will cure a smoky chimney, they will take away the kettle's boil, they are made of cart grease, Dutch cheese, soap and castor oil.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What is that all?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Doctor).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh no, I have travelled from the fire side to the stair's foot, from the stair's foot to the stair's head three times round my grand-dam's bed-stock, where I got many a leg of mouse, butter and scouse, pig-beef and ham that makes me as far and lusty as I am.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I wasn't saying anything about fat.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Doctor).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Nor I about lean.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What are you talking about?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Doctor).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">About what I can cure.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What can you cure?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Doctor).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The itch, the stitch, the palsy and the gout, if there are 19 devils in yon man I'll bring 20 out. Here I have in my pocket crutches for lame ducks, spectacles for blind bees, back saddles and panniers for grass-hoppers. I once cured Sir Harry Brand of a long toe nail, I'm sure it was so long (holds out his hands); surely I can bring this poor man to life again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Then bring him to life again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Doctor).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">How long has he been dead?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Perhaps 3 minutes and a half.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Doctor).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I don't think he has been dead so long but I cannot bring him to life. Here I bet my watch and chain that I do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And I'll be mine (brings out a turnip)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Doctor).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I've a little bottle in my inside, outside, left side, right side, waistcoat pocket, which my poor grandmother gave me on her death-bed before I left Spain, she said it would bring any dead man to life again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Then bring this man.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Doctor).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So I will. Here lad open thy thripplety thropplety, and let a few drops of my nipplety nopplety, run down thy thripplety thropplety. Rise up, bold Turk, and fight again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Bold Turk).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(Stretching himself)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Where have I been all this long and wear war?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(S. George)</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Fighting with the Scots and Scars.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Bold Turk).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Pardon me S. George.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(S. George).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">No pardon will I give thee but</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'll fight thee more and more</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Here doctor take him away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Put up those swords and let them rest,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For peace and quietness is the best,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If you won't believe the words I say</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We'll fight it out another day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>FINAL DITTY</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So here we all stand, five in a row,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As jolly good fellows as ever you saw,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We're all come a begging, we think it no crime</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Such doings as there was done in old times.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Fol de ra, fol de riddle la ral li da.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So ladies and gentlemen sitting by the fire,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Put your hands in your pockets, it's all we desire,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Put your hands in your pockets, and pull out your purse,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And give us a trifle you'll not be the worse.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Fol de ra, fol de riddle la ral li da.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>(Tosspot).</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Some people like lean, some people like fat.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But I like something in my old hat.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(<b>Note</b>: Ulverston was in Lancashire but became part of Cumbria in 1974).</span><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>CLIFTON PACE EGG PLAY</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In <i>Some Westmorland Villages</i> (compiled by the WI and published in 1957) mention is made of a Pace Egg Play from Clifton:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"There is a local rhyme connected with it (Carlin Sunday) which runs: 'Tid, Mid, Misera, Carlin, Palm and Pace Egg Day'. During the week before Good Friday the Jolly Boys went from farm to farm and cottage to cottage performing their play, or as they called it 'pace-egging'. The characters were Old Tosspot, Molly Brown Boy, Lord Nelson, King George, Jolly Jack Tar and Dr John Brown. The each went on in turn and when they had finished saying their piece they concluded with this chorus:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Now ladies and gentleman that sit by the fire</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Put your hands in your pockets, that's all we desire</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Put your hands in your pockets and pull out your purse</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And give us a trifle, you'll not be much worse.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Their rewards were pace eggs, oranges or money. Pace, or Pasche Eggs are hard-boiled eggs cooked with onion skin or other things to colour the shells. This is still done in the village and the Women's Institute has a competition each year for the most attractive egg and the entries are sent to the Old Folks Home at Kirkby Stephen."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Some Westmorland Villages </i>also includes reference to pace-egging at other villages:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b> New Hutton: </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"The children had pace-eggs at Easter and 'pace-eggers' went from house to house singing the 'pace-egging song' and they received either pence or eggs. They dressed up to represent the six different characters: The singer-in who introduced the others; Lord Nelson, Jolly Jack Tar, Paddy fra Cork, Tosspot and Mally Brown Bags. Tosspot had a hump back and a pig-tail, and Mally Brown Bags was dressed as a woman. It is about fifty years since the last pace-egging was witnessed in New Hutton, the children today know neither tune or words.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Warcop:</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The following is Mr Jack Watt's version of the Easter Pasche-Egging Song, sung by himself and others as boys, seventy years ago, when they visited farms and houses in the village. Pasche-Eggs and pennies were given to the boys by the occupants. No copy of these verses can be traced in the neighbourhood - hence this attempt to preserve it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Here comes two or three jolly boys, all in one mind</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We have come a pasche-egging, I hope you prove kind.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We hope you prove kind, with your eggs and strong beer</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For we'll not come near you, until the next year.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The first who comes in, is Lord Nelson you see</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">With a bunch of blue ribbons tied down to his knee</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A star on his breast like silver doth shine</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And I hope you remember it's pasche-egging time.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The next who comes in is the bonny young lad</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">With the lassies around him - they are all going mad.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He kisses them so sweetly and calls them his dears</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But he says he won't marry until the next year.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The next that comes in is old 'tospot' you see</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He's a valiant old man in his age and degree</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He's a valiant old man but he wears a pig-tail</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And all his delight is in drinking mulled ale.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The next that comes in is old miser with the bags</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For the sake of her money she wears her old rags.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She has gold and silver, and she keeps a pig stall</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And all her delight is in making some more.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Now ladies and gentlemen who sit round the fire</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Put your hands in your pocket, that's all we desire</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Put your hands in your pockets, and bring out your purse</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And give us a trifle - you'll not be much worse.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><i>Some Westmorland Villages </i>also references pace-egging at Reagill and Sleagill.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></div><div>----</div><div>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Scotby Mummers Play</span></h3>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">From Scotby Village and Parish History (held at Carlisle Archives - DSO 335/9/1), typewritten manuscript compiled by the WI, dated 1934 but with later notes:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"It used to be the custom for young men to go round to all the houses on Christmas Eve disguised - faces blacked and coats turned inside out, with staves (broom handles as a rule) and sing carols and act in dumb show. They were called 'guisers' No member could give any words that were used in Scotby, but the following was given by one who had lived a long time in Scotby but know if it from Kelso. The words were afterwards recognised by men of Scotby as having been used in their youth. The spelling is phonetic.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The party consisted of several but the principles were three in number, the knight, his adversary and the doctor. The words were:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Galatian, Galatian is my name,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Sword and pistol by my side</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I hope to win the game.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The game Sir, the game sir,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Is not within your power</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Your sir or I sir</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Take your sword and try sir.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">They fight and one falls as if dying -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Here comes old Dr Brown</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The best doctor in the town</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>A pickle to his nose and pickle to his tongue</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Rise up and sing a song."</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><div><b>Witherslack</b></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8TJBJX7y8hCUTpIR5TBqKSCoxsgiIQv-TC45R9A4LfddlFGfoMnRS1hkgMCk47dthpvHGXLl4yAANbSzXAUG99peuMaeARQR2A5XlHYlJQfXR2g7Q-DAM6qlz6ybFKqk8aGUXzlVwXg/s1393/wither001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1215" data-original-width="1393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8TJBJX7y8hCUTpIR5TBqKSCoxsgiIQv-TC45R9A4LfddlFGfoMnRS1hkgMCk47dthpvHGXLl4yAANbSzXAUG99peuMaeARQR2A5XlHYlJQfXR2g7Q-DAM6qlz6ybFKqk8aGUXzlVwXg/s320/wither001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Picture and text from<span style="text-align: left;"> The History of Witherslack, Meathop and Ulpha during the Twentieth Century, by Maureen James Ba Hons, 2000).</span></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Jolly Boys (or Pace Eggers)</b></div><div><br /></div><div>The Jolly Boys were revived in Witherslack in Holy Week before Easter in 1943 (From an unpublished version of the Pace Eggers Play by Edward Meryon Wilson). From an off print of Folk Lore, March 1938). Before that they were remembered in a fragmentary way until the Great War (1914-1918). The old men remembered how well received they were at the farms and given eggs, mince pies and money, silver as well as copper. The performance seems to have taken them not just all over Westmorland but Lancashire north of the Sands as well as further afield. At the beginning of the second world war many evacuees were sent to Witherslack, mostly from Liverpool and South Shields.</div><div>Originally Tosspot comes first to clear the way. He carried a stout stick with which he thumps the ground all around. He wore a top hat and his hump is made of a bundle of shavings. St George has a large helmet decorated with long streamers of coloured paper. He also wore a sash 'a la militaire' his upper lip is decorated with a burnt cork moustache and carries a sword of wood or hoop iron. The Turkish Knight is somewhat similarly equipped but his hand and face are completely blackened. Dr Brown wears a disguise suited to his profession: a large and extremely old-fashioned hat is usually regarded as essential. Molly Masket is dressed as an old woman and carries the basket containing eggs and other contributions. Other characters only take part in the final chorus such as Lord Nelson and Jolly Jack Tar.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>THE PLAY</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>The hunchback seizes his staff and beating the floor with it, dances round till a sufficiently large circle is cleared for all the actors and says:-</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Stir up the fire and strike a light</i></div><div><i>And see this bloody act tonight,</i></div><div><i>If you don't believe a word I say,</i></div><div><i>Step in St George and clear the way.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>(St George:) <i>In steps St George</i></div><div><i>A noble champion bold!</i></div><div><i>With my right hand and glittering sword</i></div><div><i>I've won three crowns of gold</i></div><div><i>Twas I who fought the fiery dragon</i></div><div><i>And brought him down by slaughter</i></div><div><i>And by these means I won the Queen</i></div><div><i>The King of Egypt's daughter.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>The Turkish Knight steps in forward and begins:-</div><div><br /></div><div><i>In steps I, bold Turk,</i></div><div><i>Black Morocco King</i></div><div><i>My sword and buckler by my side</i></div><div><i>And through the woods I ring</i></div><div><i>I'll stab thee in thy vital gorge.</i></div><div><i>I'm brave and that is what makes us good,</i></div><div><i>And through thy dearest body, George</i></div><div><i>I'll draw thy precious blood.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>The challenge is accepted and the fight begins, but not without many more verses. </div><div><br /></div><div>The turk is slain and a doctor is called for, after boasting about his travels, St George challenges the Doctor to revive the Turk.</div><div><br /></div><div> 'Here Jack, just take a little out of my bottle, and let it run down thy throttle, and if thou be not quite slain, rise up Jack and fight again'.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Turk awakes saying he will have St George in another round.</div><div><br /></div><div>The annual celebration of life was universal: fight, death, resurrection being the common factors. Then the whole company join in the following chorus, clasping hands and prancing round singing:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Here's two or three jolly boys all in one mind,</i></div><div><i>We've come a pace-egging and hope you'll prove kind</i></div><div><i>We hope you'll prove kind with your eggs and strong beer,</i></div><div><i>And we'll come no more nigh you, until next year.</i>*</div><div><br /></div><div>(*50 Years Ago - May 1993 from the <i>Westmorland Gazette</i>)</div><div><br /></div><div>There were seven people in it with the presenter (see photo above): Winnie Butler (sitting in the front row), an evacuee billeted with the Wilson family of Fern Hill, Witherslack. From the photograph, Norman Marshall (an evacuee billetted with the Wallings at Halecote) was St George; Alan Pearson was Bold Slasher, and his sister Joan played the part of Johnny Jack. Sheila Thornburrow was Tosspot and Jean Walker was Old Miser. Words and music were written by Mrs Brunskill of Crosthwaite. They performed the play all round the village and collected £12 for the Red Cross.</div><div><br /></div><div>Another girl who played it in later life was Mary Clifton (nee Benson) and it continued for a number of years. Another source of it is in Lancashire folk lore (How Bury Pace-Eggers Started at emrs.chm.bris.ac.uk - link no longer valid) which included clog dances, and songs, and it was started the Saturday before Easter and considered bad luck to continue after noon on Good Friday.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>A NOTE ON PACE-EGGING AT DUFTON</b></div><div><br /></div><div>This is from the Penrith Observer, December 14th 1954</div><div><div>Round and about Column by 'Beacon'</div><div><br /></div><div>A recent reference to Mr John Lightburn's 90th birthday and the face that he used to go pace egging has brought an interesting letter from Major Harold Deighton, who sends me a copy of The Journal of the Lancashire Dialect Society for December 1952.</div><div>In this, Major Deighton has some fascinating facts about pace egging, an old North Westmorland custom which lingered on in the Dufton district almost to the end of the 19th Century.</div><div>Pace egg is, of course, really pasche (Easter) egg and a pace egger was one who went about singing and begging for Easter eggs in the week before Easter.</div><div>With the begging went a mumming called Jolly Boying, and says Major Deighton, the actors were disguised by blackened faces, coats worn inside out, false noses and whiskers.</div><div>The players in this mumming were two or three Jolly Boys, Lord Nelson, Jolly Jack Tar, Bonny Young Lad, Old Tosspot and Old Miser.</div><div>A typical scene for the play would be a farmhouse kitchen with the family gathered round the fire for the night.</div><div>"Suddenly the door-sneck would be lifted, and the pace-eggers would enter, tree Jolly Boys with fiddle, concertina, and voices rendering the opening verse of the pace-egging song, which was completed as they march round the supper table.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Here come two or three Jolly Boys, all in one mind,</i></div><div><i>We've come a pace-egging - I hope you'll prove kind.</i></div><div><i>I hope you'll prove kind with your eggs and strong beer,</i></div><div><i>And we'll come no more near you until the next year.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>The third line gives the key to the original purpose of the visit - the collection of eggs and beer for the better celebration of Eastertide.</div><div>In our account of Mr Lightburn's birthday we fell into an error in saying that he remembered the taste of the 'mulled' ale which was a feature of pace-egging.</div><div>For mulled ale read mould ale - a sustaining hot drink, which was also much used at funerals.</div><div>Major Deighton gives the recipe supplied by Mrs J Beadle of Murton, Appleby, and if any of my readers decide to try it I should like to hear from them afterwards.</div><div>Here it is:</div><div>Take one gallon of ale, and 12 to 14 eggs.</div><div>Beat the eggs up in a basin.</div><div>When the ale is at boiling point (not boiling) put the eggs in and stir well so that it does not curd, add ginger, nutmeg and sugar to taste.</div><div>I am told that this recipe is still used every Easter at Murton. In the old days it will have strengthened the mourners and bearers as they struggled along the corpse roads of North Westmorland.</div><div>Major Deighton writes apropos of this: "There is a little known corpse road at Mildam, Dufton and tradition has it that once a corpse had to be brought from a moorland farm nine miles away, the coffin being lashed to the back of a stout horse.</div><div>"On arrival at Dutton (Dufton? - Alan) the mourners decided to 'hev yan' at the inn, leaving the horse outside. The mould ale detained them a good while, and while waiting something happened to 'flay the nag' which galloped the nine miles home with the corpse."</div></div><div><br /></div><div><b>GRASMERE</b></div><div><br /></div><div>The Grasmere pace-egging play was incorporated into the script of one of the Grasmere Dialect plays.</div></span>
<br /></div>Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-74509391650243278112018-02-28T04:07:00.002-08:002018-04-03T01:24:05.116-07:00Memories of a Lamplugh Farmer<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Carting through the River Esk</td></tr>
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<b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Memories of a Lamplugh Farmer</b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> by Bob Jackson</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Review by Alan Cleaver</i></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob Jackson</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">THIS is one of the most charming books I have ever read. A real treasure that I'll be taking off the bookshelf to re-read time and time again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As a townie, I've always dreamed of the romantic life of the Cumbrian farmer; that secret world full of its own mysteries and own language. So when I heard the reminiscences of Lamplugh farmer Bob Jackson were being published I couldn't wait to get my hands on a copy. I wasn't disappointed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">OK, so there's harsh reality alongside the romance but I'd swap even that for my lifetime stuck in traffic jams and staring my life away into a computer screen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was Rev Jim Marshall who persuaded Mr Jackson to put pen to paper and contribute a regular article to the parish magazine; this book is a compilation of those articles.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The style of writing echoes the dialect of West Cumbria and the themes of the article reflect the farming year in this rural part of the county. Mr Jackson paints a picture with a fine brush and highlights the details us 'townies' would miss, be it the different rare flowers in the meadows or the ploughing of the land and sowing of seed at the start of the year.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRaOJbmbMgujIsvEZ9pByDQUM5L7OSWWWN3jY2gM2AgM2L93Zz9DihwRUWk3lnhyphenhyphentDhSEH1_VCImq1vfEL5K9l0womAXKijUFjSFW3t7dVTmoDFVnXJ81mc6IDL8plAePdxGXifwYnBhY/s1600/cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1120" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRaOJbmbMgujIsvEZ9pByDQUM5L7OSWWWN3jY2gM2AgM2L93Zz9DihwRUWk3lnhyphenhyphentDhSEH1_VCImq1vfEL5K9l0womAXKijUFjSFW3t7dVTmoDFVnXJ81mc6IDL8plAePdxGXifwYnBhY/s200/cover.jpg" width="139" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Where I see a hedge, Mr Jackson sees the hedge, the dyke it's on and a kest that needs sodding. It's poetry really. And while a glossary might have been helpful, I'm not sure it matters. It's enough just to let the words flow over you. That said, I think an audio book would be wonderful partner to the text book.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Jackson family is rooted in the farming landscape and he touches on personal and family life too. Mr Jackson farms with God by his side and such faith, often in the face of great adversity, is humbling to behold. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm not sure of Mr Jackson's education but he writes better than me and I claim to have been a 'writer' for most of my professional life. I'm guessing it's a natural gift for Mr Jackson borne out of his detailed knowledge of his subject matter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here's an extract to give a flavour of the book...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>"Every season is different and this one is no different as the snowdrops got a good start and were already showing white by Christmas. They are no further forward by the start of February due, I think, to the cold during January. In our part of the world it wasn't hard frost, just enough to put a brake on the growth of plants and save them from worse things happening."</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The calendar year and Mother Nature dictate the tempo of Mr Jackson's life and work. A good understanding of what's happening in the countryside is clearly vital to farmers and Mr Jackson reminds a modern world that working with the environment needs to be a carefully balanced partnership.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is a limited edition run of a few hundred copies so you wont see <i>Memories of a Lamplugh Farmer </i>in the Sunday Times Top 10 best-sellers list. I'd urge you therefore to grab a copy while you can. Sit in front of a roaring log fire, pour yourself a glass of good red wine and prepare to savour every word in this wonderful tome.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Memories-Lamplugh-Farmer-Bob-Jackson/dp/0954748255/" target="_blank">Memories of a Lamplugh Farmer</a> is available from Lowes Court Gallery, Egremont; The New Bookshop, Cockermouth; The Beacon, Whitehaven; Michael Moon's, Whitehaven; other bookshops and Amazon, priced £7.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Alan Cleaver</span><br />
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<br />Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-42916686899438027922018-02-28T04:01:00.002-08:002018-02-28T04:01:19.154-08:00Sacred North - a review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Sacred North by Fr John Musther, with photographs by Phil Cope. Review by Alan Cleaver</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Fr John Musther is known to many as the parish priest of the Orthodox parish in Keswick. But even those not in the Orthodox church may have seen Fr John wandering around town in his distinctive blue robe, the large Orthodox cross round his neck - and his delightful long white, whispy beard!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He is as gentle as he is tall and has introduced many to his faith through his writings. In his last book, <i>Springs of Living Waters</i>, Fr John guided us through the Cumbrian landscape to show us the many holy wells that still survive, centuries after they were sanctified by Saint Mungo, St Begha, St Catherine and others. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">To the Orthodox church, Saints are not distant, unreachable figures high up in heaven. They are friends who walked the same paths we walk today - and still have something to tell us.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In his new book,<i> Sacred North</i>, Fr John - accompanied by his wife Jenny and photographer Phil Cope - have travelled further afield to show us the holy sites throughout Cumbria and beyond.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The 300-page full colour tome includes Keswick's very own St Kentigern's Church and Derwentwater's St Herbert's Isle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">St Kentigern (also known as St Mungo meaning 'my dear one') was an itinerant bishop who wandered the north in the late sixth century and it is said he preached from a clearing (or thwaite) at Crosfeld leading eventually to the church at Crosthwaite. The size of the church is evidence of the many pilgrims who have come here throughout the centuries.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">St Herbert is less well known but lived on the Derwentwater island that now bears his name making him another of Keswick's very own saints.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The sumptuous photographs and detailed text invited the reader to once again explore these sites and perhaps even wander further with Fr John to Northumberland, the Western Isles, Shetland and some of the most remote places in Great Britain. Indeed, it is fair to say that Fr John and his team have almost literally travelled to the ends of the world. Here are islands so remote they can only be reached by chartering a boat - and only then if the weather permits a landing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This is a remarkable undertaking but the result makes all the effort worthwhile. This is a coffee-table book - but you'll need a very sturdy coffee table as it weighs in at nearly 3lbs! It is Fr John's gift to those of us who wish to learn more about our nation's spiritual history but don't have his stamina for a pilgrimage to those distant lands. And it's a book you'll read while offering up a silent prayer of thanks to Fr John and his friends.</span><br />
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<li><i>Sacred North</i> is £25 from bookshops</li>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>- Alan Cleaver</b></span></div>
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Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-12690665382682740072017-09-08T07:04:00.002-07:002017-09-08T07:08:09.863-07:00Requiem for the written word<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Review of Percy Kelly 'Painted Letters' exhibition at Whitehaven Archives, September 2017</b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'VE long been a fan of late artist Percy Kelly - not so much of his paintings as his 'painted letters'. When he wrote to friends - and even when writing to the taxman - he would illustrate his letters with drawings and paintings of the local landscape or perhaps the room he was sitting in. They are a beautiful blend of words and pictures. And fortunately for me many of his painted letters are cared for at <a href="https://www.cumbria.gov.uk/archives/archivecentres/whalsc.asp" target="_blank">Whitehaven Archives</a> - just a few yards from where I live. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP0TSwHSgQchuspCpWmqzkhH_apQJiSjeaxPYT0nIerpyhDeNC4tRvFnO29loe2qjwzIqhq7EKtiieKBn2AomwTxi9xLAitErXpbM-nUWzNk1SB8uQBQra3zRm2ejUHiU1LcMyV2ZNgCY/s1600/ryland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1400" data-original-width="1117" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP0TSwHSgQchuspCpWmqzkhH_apQJiSjeaxPYT0nIerpyhDeNC4tRvFnO29loe2qjwzIqhq7EKtiieKBn2AomwTxi9xLAitErXpbM-nUWzNk1SB8uQBQra3zRm2ejUHiU1LcMyV2ZNgCY/s320/ryland.jpg" width="255" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">During September, a number of his letters were dug out of the vaults and put on public display for an exhibition. They are a requiem to the written word. In an age of texting, email, messaging and other temporary mediums, Percy Kelly's letters remind us of the beauty of the written word. Let's be honest, even those of us who still use pen and ink only scribble out handwritten notes on rare occasions. Few of us would take time to write in neat italic or copperplate - and then spend half an hour painting the view out of the window to go on the bottom of the letter. One can hardly blame today's generation for simply texting CUL8R. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Percy - born in Workington in 1918 - once said 'I believe in years to come these letters of mine will gain as much fame as the drawings and paintings'. I think they will fare better than his traditional art because his letters represent one last hurrah for handwriting in the final days of this ancient but doomed art. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho-Dke0TnwmfE0copAvFu_2HHkEr9x3e2hzVGPSsAqb3eqNYyW9v-eOvhixX6oVe-nvtosc7dcqarCcEwEfw6CKU5ZQwiKd22JdSCwkDFq1PVYjihKTTUccVusbRQUettmtYSvTZSJFwY/s1600/car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho-Dke0TnwmfE0copAvFu_2HHkEr9x3e2hzVGPSsAqb3eqNYyW9v-eOvhixX6oVe-nvtosc7dcqarCcEwEfw6CKU5ZQwiKd22JdSCwkDFq1PVYjihKTTUccVusbRQUettmtYSvTZSJFwY/s320/car.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">His letters are a final farewell before we sink into digital hell. It won't be long now before UK schools follow other countries and drop the teaching of handwriting in favour of keyboarding. For a few years there will be old fuddy-duddies like me who will still fight handwriting's corner but then it will be gone. Streets and cafes will be full of people tip-tapping away into small metal devices in the palm of their hand. Messages they are convinced are vitally important will vanish into the ether as quickly as they do. There will be nothing worthy left behind.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm sure some folk will still gaze in wonder at Percy's letters and no doubt someone will point their smart phone at it, take a picture and post it on Twitter. For a few hours it will 'go viral' but I fear most still won't understand what Percy was trying to tell us: that the medium is the message, that sometimes how you say something is just as important as what you are saying. That the pen is mightier than the word.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- Alan Cleaver</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">- See also </span><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="https://rylandscollections.wordpress.com/2015/01/20/the-art-of-correspondence-percy-kellys-illustrated-letters/" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;" target="_blank">The Art of Correspondence</a></li>
<li><a href="http://aftertheartistsway.blogspot.co.uk/2011/05/snooping-through-percy-kellys-mail.html" target="_blank">Snooping Through Percy Kelly's mail</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.percykelly.co.uk/" target="_blank">Percy Kelly</a> artworks website</li>
</ul>
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<br />Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-89812648049119209112017-08-19T04:32:00.003-07:002017-08-19T04:33:29.811-07:00Wasdale to Eskdale corpse road<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhovGJ5XPmUJPI7co_ek8s6g7YIvadSwAVWm4Mru0IEI7g4EW5wZOX5lccuVAuNFThjj5aVU-pZilwhFOaXBa2ee7-eCRLL5omlhc0G06HRdFru5nLYwCljkjsIoGhhXP84_o441A-swYk/s1600/hodgepodge012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1110" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhovGJ5XPmUJPI7co_ek8s6g7YIvadSwAVWm4Mru0IEI7g4EW5wZOX5lccuVAuNFThjj5aVU-pZilwhFOaXBa2ee7-eCRLL5omlhc0G06HRdFru5nLYwCljkjsIoGhhXP84_o441A-swYk/s640/hodgepodge012.jpg" width="443" /></a></div>
<br />Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-86115658980857093952017-05-17T09:34:00.001-07:002017-05-17T09:34:12.773-07:00The Letters of Dora Harcourt<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXYPp_47ao1LeOX9XIstx6mrn6pFf_SNDHMa2HNOrlSFR6dr7p3LKSUn-Oi5QdEKDXslm4reOAVce7bAdbGq79oms2sDiitrvou-jNDZAUYl4049pTJkOxiqDXcZ1trEIrRGjoxk1YBz8/s1600/telling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXYPp_47ao1LeOX9XIstx6mrn6pFf_SNDHMa2HNOrlSFR6dr7p3LKSUn-Oi5QdEKDXslm4reOAVce7bAdbGq79oms2sDiitrvou-jNDZAUYl4049pTJkOxiqDXcZ1trEIrRGjoxk1YBz8/s320/telling.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Telling the bees - and draping the hives in black ribbons</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">TWO hundred years ago people knew precisely what they must do when someone died: Tell the bees. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">While the unfortunate soul was being carried to his or her final resting place, someone from the household would be seeking out the nearest beehive and telling the bees about the death. The hives might even be draped in black ribbons and some of the funeral cake left at the entrance to the hive for the bees to enjoy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It's just one of the strange customs revealed in my new book that details superstitions, customs and folklore from West Cumbria at the start of the 19th Century. </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Letters of Dora Harcourt</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> reveals some curious, intriguing and downright daft superstitions of our ancestors. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Dora was actually a 'posh' Londoner - a Sloane Ranger from the Georgian era - but she spent several months staying with her relatives a couple of miles south of Whitehaven. Her father - Cecil Harcourt - had a keen interest in folklore so asked her to write to him with the various customs and bits of folklore she witnessed. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Her letters are full of such delights as a Christmas mummers play, new year's eve traditions, harvest festival customs, maypole dancing and even superstitions surrounding funerals. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNsnd3kiDIVlwwxDWbeAF8TS2pRPnZVY4S_wJNPraMPT6z43wtKHFlCIp_m9x7oQXI0S1U5S6FgmZFkPDXX6E9Qv_6oGNMl1-a5FfFYHViyLKfbrrRCqWKOuRxAr3syNRQA4ZoggWnQg/s1600/barring.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNsnd3kiDIVlwwxDWbeAF8TS2pRPnZVY4S_wJNPraMPT6z43wtKHFlCIp_m9x7oQXI0S1U5S6FgmZFkPDXX6E9Qv_6oGNMl1-a5FfFYHViyLKfbrrRCqWKOuRxAr3syNRQA4ZoggWnQg/s320/barring.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barring Out</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">One of the most interesting is barring-out. Pupils in village schools in the north of England would 'bar out' the teacher, barricading the school door so he couldn't get in. They then demanded days off for holidays before they let him back in. The custom died out once school holidays became a legal right in the mid-19th Century.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The letters were re-published by Dora's father in 1850 in <i>Arts Illustrated Magazine</i> to share her memories of rustic superstition. They have lain forgotten ever since but recently the magazines have been digitized and so a search of keywords 'Whitehaven' and 'folklore' brought them to light. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And having found this rich resource, I thought the letters deserved to be republished for a wider audience. My partner, Lesley Park, and I have annotated the letters explaining the reason behind some of the superstitions and also saying if any of them survive today. Lesley's mother - Babs Park - for example maintains the new year custom of not doing any washing on New Year's Day in case she 'washes out' any of her relatives!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The Letters of Dora Harcourt </i>is available<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Letters-Dora-Harcourt-Traditions-Cumberland/dp/1545227306/" target="_blank"> from Amazon</a> for £5 (Kindle £3). A deluxe hand-bound and stitched edition for £15 is also available from my <a href="https://sites.google.com/site/alancleaverbooks/home/dora-harcourt" target="_blank">online bookstore</a> or Lowes Court Gallery in Egremont.</span>Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-12789677953984887542017-04-16T03:22:00.003-07:002017-04-16T03:22:52.871-07:00Self-publishing - what to do and what not to do<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Starting your self-published book</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">MORE and more people are turning to self-publishing. It’s becoming easier, cheaper - and for those who just want to print and hopefully sell a few copies of their book, it’s a better option than seeking an agent or a publisher.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Many wannabe authors have already made great strides towards self-publishing their book - only to discover they have gone down a blind alley and need to start again.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So for those literally just starting out, here are some tips on what to do - and more importantly, what not to do:</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do write your book! You need a ‘finished’ clean manuscript. Once you start preparing to publish it becomes very difficult to change, add or delete entire chapters. It’s best to work with a complete and finished product.</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Use Microsoft Word or Open Office to write your text. The latter program is free from openoffice.org.</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do consider spacing between paragraphs but the use of italics and bold (or similar) may be left until the pages are laid out. Indeed, bold, italic etc will often be stripped out when your text is imported into page-layout software.</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do get it proof-read. Use spell-check and grammar-check; use your friends. Proof-reading is harder than it looks.</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do source high quality, high res images. Pictures need to be at least 300ppi (600ppi for glossy picture books).</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Don’t merge text and pictures. You may be tempted to merge pictures into your text at the appropriate places. Don’t. Text and images need to be separate ahead of laying-out pages. Just put a line saying “Teddy Bear picture goes here”.</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do start thinking about a cover - a striking image will help sell your book so it can be worth paying a freelance photographer or agency (such as </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://www.arcangel.com/" style="text-decoration: none;">http://www.arcangel.com/</a>)</span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do start thinking about how many copies you want printed (you can just print one!). If you are ordering more than 500 copies, how are you going to sell them? Start thinking about promotion.</span></div>
</li>
</ul>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Take a look at <a href="http://www.lulu.com/">www.lulu.com</a> and <a href="http://www.blurb.co.uk/" target="_blank">www.blurb.co.uk </a>which are the two main self-publishing websites. In particular look at what format they require your files. Also see if they will include your book on Amazon or Kindle if you want to publish on those platforms.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Finally, have you backed up your precious book? Back up the data in at least three places (hard disc, USB, the cloud) in case you lose your computer. The cloud is probably the safest place to store data.</span></div>
<br />Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-23006686822736398992017-04-10T02:55:00.002-07:002021-09-19T02:06:36.936-07:00The Crier of Claife revisited<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvbVgPTFXdDF1QMRotPH-YHHBJgfCdm5mXA_zxCsbPslihvbTCgCukSTweOHXGQaVdYJV64YupSeOUnF3_0pJ2A_NKY1CTtCEJyP_LD0dj8AuiI00QKgzlFFytGZu2TJmMs-3Kp7zOQOA/s1600/criermap.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="crier map" border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvbVgPTFXdDF1QMRotPH-YHHBJgfCdm5mXA_zxCsbPslihvbTCgCukSTweOHXGQaVdYJV64YupSeOUnF3_0pJ2A_NKY1CTtCEJyP_LD0dj8AuiI00QKgzlFFytGZu2TJmMs-3Kp7zOQOA/s320/criermap.png" title="Crier map" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The only ghost to appear on an Ordnance Survey map: The Crier of Claife</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Crier of Claife is one of Cumbria's most famous ghosts, haunting the shores of Windermere. It also crops up in pub quizzes as the only ghost to appear on an Ordnance Survey map. But it's a story told and retold so often in 'Haunted Lake District' books that it has become rather confused. One of the clearest re-tellings and examinations of the ghost appears on <a href="https://esmeraldamac.wordpress.com/2011/05/20/the-claife-crier-windermeres-famous-spook/" target="_blank">Esmeralda's blog</a> but in brief...</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeQpy0PaB4050ZBcfMPV28In1FhlsjzkZcYKDHyw_klh-ZHxsY3LX8PRbLZtKPFhOqX6Fy6gUBuIezMk7H7OXHjECQ56eZckeeLP4rMw-kYXFCL07ZYOg7QckhtfiixsWV9znh_eNhML4/s1600/ferry.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeQpy0PaB4050ZBcfMPV28In1FhlsjzkZcYKDHyw_klh-ZHxsY3LX8PRbLZtKPFhOqX6Fy6gUBuIezMk7H7OXHjECQ56eZckeeLP4rMw-kYXFCL07ZYOg7QckhtfiixsWV9znh_eNhML4/s320/ferry.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The old Windermere ferry. Photograph by J.W.Brunskill, photographer with a studio at Bowness, Windermere between 1860-1900. This simple rowed ferry preceded the much larger mechanised ferries. Picture by Picture Esk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In olden times when the ferry between Ferry Nab and Sawrey was manned by men in rowing boats, you could 'call' the ferry over to collect you by shouting out. One night the ferryman heard someone crying out and rowed over to collect his passenger. But the oarsman returned a gibbering wreck and died a few days later from his madness. The other ferrymen concluded it must have been a ghost he encountered which had driven him mad so refused to row across any more in darkness. Eventually it was decided to 'lay' the ghost and they called upon monks from Furness Abbey. They agreed to hold a ceremony on </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Chapel Island in Barrow Bay and the villagers made their way to this desolate spot on Christmas Day for the exorcism. Although the 'Nab flay' was suitably dispensed with, his cry can still be heard - and woe betide anyone who rows across to try and collect the spectral passenger.</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Crier of Claife is indeed marked on OS maps (see above) but as to whether the name followed the ghost or the ghost arose from the name is impossible to tell. It is an eminence on the side of the lake and also a disused quarry. But is it the only ghost on a map? I'm not sure but can quickly think of <a href="http://lakedistrictletters.blogspot.co.uk/2016/10/dobbie-lane.html" target="_blank">Dobbie Lane at Cark</a> which is named after its ghost. <a href="mailto:alanjcleaver@gmail.com" target="_blank">Let me know</a> if you are aware of any others.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On re-reading this story on Esmeralda's blog, she identified Harriet Martineau's account of the story in A Complete Guide to the English Lakes (1855) as the earliest account and I wondered if - with the continuing digitisation of archives - it might be possible now to trace any earlier accounts. The <a href="http://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/" target="_blank">British Newspaper Archive</a> is slowly scanning and digitising old newspapers and a search on there did indeed reveal an earlier account. It was published in The Kendal Mercury on 25th December 1852 and is headlined: <i>The Crier of Claife - </i></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>A Christmas Ghost Story For Country Firesides</i>. It is written </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">by 'Snow Drop'. Not an auspicious start for those seeking a 'real' ghost but bear with me. The article is a detailed and colourful account of the Crier of Claife and one suspects it was Martineau's source for her story. It's a long article (I'm happy to email the full article to those who want it) but the crucial section is here:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was a wild stormy night about Martinmas, somewhere about 330 years ago, when a shout from the Nab called the Ferry boatman from amongst a lot of roystering travellers that had taken up their quarters at the then humble alehouse, from the inclemency of the weather and furious storm that raged out of doors. There was something particularly wild and awful about the night. Nothing could be more spectral; great flashes of lightning now and then made the hills look like giant phantoms, while the intervening hail showers had clothed them in a shroud, and they stared at the boatman with a still white face, the trees along the water edge, stood like huge skeletons, lifting their bleached arms towards the trooping clouds that hurried swiftly across the sky, like witches flocking to a ghostly feast. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When sufficient time had elapsed for the boatman to return, the half-drunken guests staggered to the landing, to see who the newcomer might be, for in those days travellers were few, but the boatman had returned alone, a sober, silent man, with terror marked in every feature of his face. he was with difficulty got to bed, and awoke next morning in a violent fever, that carried him off in a few days, but he never could be prevailed upon to say a word of what had befallen him at the Nab. For weeks after, when the weather was boisterous, there were eager and violent shoutings and cries at the Nab, but the story of the apparition had got noised abroad, so that no boatman could be found that dared to venture across the lake after dark. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">These times were the days of Abbeys and Convents, and the Cistercian Monks held sway and ruled Furness Fells from the Abbey of Saint Mary in Furness, and a monk or friar used to attend the little convent on Chapel Island, half a mile north of Bowness Bay, to ease the inhabitants of the district of their sins and money. To him was application made about the much dreaded Nab affair. These monasteries founded at first as the abodes of piety and letters and refuges for the desolate and penitent, had become the haunts of idleness and superstition, and ready, very ready were the monks to comply with the request of the neighbourhood to remove the ghost, on condition that a certain amount of money was forthcoming when the incantation was completed, for in those days, as in our own times, amongst the Roman Catholics, there was "no penny, no paternoster". As to the exact year in which the ceremony was performed, all is left in doubt and dimmest twilight, but there is every certainty that it was Christmas day when the monks and their attendants met the zealous inhabitants of the thinly-populated district on Chapel Island.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"In the sacerdotal performance there was much rhapsody and little sober reason or religion, very much that was calculated to inflame the inexperienced imagination, but little that could direct the erring judgement. It was a sad spectacle for half a dozen cowled monks to persuade as many hundred people they possessed power over supernatural things. But it was an age of faith, and the whole multitude left the island firmly believing that henceforth and forever the 'Nab flay' must take up its location at the Crier. Since then centuries have passed away, and not a name exists of any individual that took part in the solemn service. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The district is still busy, far busier than in those days; the hum of business and the notes of pleasure are still going on, but the simple inhabitants of the township then are far, far away, the veteran souls of many centuries. We might tell how that in times past, the fox-hounds, when in full chase, often came to a stand at the place that had become the dwelling place of ghosts, without any one being able to assign the reason; and of a schoolmaster from Colthouse, who, within the present generation, left home one evening to go past the spot, but was never seen or heard of more, and many other strange mysterious tales of people being mightily terrified, but time and space will not permit. Some will be ready to exclaim that these old prejudices are swept away, and such notions are discarded; that we have shaken off the trammels of ancient delusion, and folks do not believe in the imps of darkness now, but really the writer never knew an individual who visited the place in twilight without confessing to a heart clutching fear of unearthly company."</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The question, of course, is whether this was complete fiction or if it was based on a known legend. I have certainly come across this style of newspaper article before where a legend is taken and enriched.<i> The Whitehaven News</i> in 1924 included an article by Joseph wear re-telling the story of the fairies who lived at Saltom Rock, near Whitehaven, but the legend is written about in a pamphlet published in 1850 so is clearly a piece of purple prose but based on a known story. And there's hope that the same is true of the Crier of Claife.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The legend was written about in 1873 by John Pagen White in his book, <i>Lays & Legends of the English Lake District</i>. This book takes local legends and re-tells them in verse form. What is interest to us is a footnote to the Crier of Claife re-telling which mentions a sighting of the ghost by White's fellow antiquarian, Alexander Craig Gibson. White says:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Mr Craig Gibson, in one of his graphic sketches of the Lake country, says that he is qualified to speak to this, for he himself has heard him. "At least," says he, "I have heard what I was solemnly assured by an old lady at Cunsey must have been the Crier of Claife. Riding down the woods a little south of the Ferry, on a wild January evening, I was strongly impressed by a sound made by the wind as, after gathering behind the hill called Gummershow for short periods of comparative calm, it came rushing up and across the lake with a sound startlingly suggestive of the cry of a human being in extremity, wailing for succour. This sound lasted till the squall it always preceded struck the western shore, when it was lost in the louder rush of the wind through the leafless woods. I am induced to relate this," he continues, "by the belief I entertain that the phenomenon described thus briefly and imperfectly, may account for much of the legend, and that the origin of many similar traditional superstitions may be found something equally simple."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I haven't yet found Gibson's original 'sketch'** but he wrote a number of articles and pamphlets so I'm hopeful it will one day be found. However it appears Gibson lived in the south Lakes up until 1850 (then moving to Liverpool) so it is perhaps safe to assume for now that he saw the ghost prior to 1850 - ie before the article in the <i>Kendal Mercury</i>. This would confirm the <i>Mercury's </i>'Christmas ghost story' was at least based in part on a known folk tale. Gibson's account would also be remarkable as a first-hand witness of the ghost. And although Gibson dismisses it as a story associated with a particular type of wind that is very interesting it itself. Britain has only one 'named' wind: <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helm_Wind" target="_blank">The Helm Wind</a> - also in Cumbria*. So at the very least we now have a second named wind: The Crier of Claife. Worthy of a quiz question if nothing else!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* I have actually come across another named wind: The Back Wind (I jest not!) on Derwentwater, Keswick which bounces off the surrounding fells but this does not appear to be a name still used.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">** I have now found Gibson's account - at least one printed in 1867 (actually a transcript of a talk he gave in 1866). For the historical record I will include it here:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><blockquote class="tr_bq">
"The Lakeland of Lancashire No II. Hawkshead Parish. By A Craig Gibson. Read in 1866. Published 1867.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Still to the south rises the fine, bold, but not high hill called Latterbarrow, which there divides the vales of Esthwaite and Windermere. On the wildest and most lonely part of this height, for it is scarcely a hill, there is an extensive slate or flag quarry, long disused and overgrown with wood, some of which is of considerable age. This desolate spot bears the singular name, singular as applied to an extinct quarry, of The Crier of Claife, whereby hangs a legend, the leading particulars of which may be given here, as indicating the character of the current traditions of that locality.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"It is said that, more than three hundred years ago, "The Ferry" on Windermere was haunted by a troublesome night walker, crying in a manner that enforced attention, from the Westmoreland shore, for a boat;' the most urgent and most awful appeals always coming on the most stormy nights. One of the ferrymen who attended to this weirdly hail when first heard, and rowed across the lake against a fierce gale from the southeast, returned with an empty boat, horror-stricken and dumb, continuing speechless for some days and then dying. Travellers began to avoid the ferry, for the crier continued to haunt the knab every stormy night; and "over all there hung a cloud of fear," so that few cared to venture near it even by day, and to the well-accustomed hostelry might at length be applied the often-quoted words:</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"A merry place, 'twas said, in days of yore, But something ail'd it now - the place was cursed."</blockquote>
</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><blockquote class="tr_bq">
It thus became desirable that something should be done to abate this fearful nuisance, and naturally the monks of Furness were appealed to for aid. These holy men commissioned a brother of noted sanctity and skill to exorcise and lay the apparition, who had come to be known throughout the country by the title of "The Crier of Claife". He soon accomplished the object of his mission and succeeded in shutting up the crier in the desolate quarry, which has ever since borne the same name: a dreary spot, worthy of its story. None of the country people will go near it after nightfall and few care to approach it even in daylight. Desperate men, driven from their homes by domestic discord, have been seen to be going in its direction and never known to return. it is said that the crier is allowed to emerge occasionally from his lonely prison, and is still heard on very stormy nights sending his wild entreaty for a boat, howling across Windermere. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I am qualified to speak to this, for I have heard him myself; or at least I have heard what I was solemnly assured by an old lady at Cunsey must have been the Crier of Claife. Riding down the woods a little south of the Ferry, on a wild January evening, I was strongly impressed by a sound made by the wind as, after gathering behind the hill called Gummershow for short periods of comparative clam, it came rushing up and across the lake with a sound startlingly suggestive of the cry of a human being in extremity, wailing for succour. This sound lasted till the squall it always preceded struck the western shore, when it was lost in the louder rush of the wind through the leafless woods. I am induced to relate this by the belief I entertain that the phenomenon described thus briefly and imperfectly, may account for much of the legend, and that the origin of many similar traditional superstitions may be found in something equally simple."</blockquote>
</span></blockquote>
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Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-43037043618388137882017-02-20T03:34:00.003-08:002017-02-20T03:34:35.775-08:00The driverless coach<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju7Vyr-M4aAzOYm1Zpc22gmA-Mao9GWDvkQF_qFXQ6irtNefLMjy4_JaSBmYyvvluXz6D9BLHpnNn_Mk4FFF4YVUrf6R8wG1Hayb5mmuLvcCU242nByrqRByCAbWxPSs1LxAMjJ96VH-E/s1600/coach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju7Vyr-M4aAzOYm1Zpc22gmA-Mao9GWDvkQF_qFXQ6irtNefLMjy4_JaSBmYyvvluXz6D9BLHpnNn_Mk4FFF4YVUrf6R8wG1Hayb5mmuLvcCU242nByrqRByCAbWxPSs1LxAMjJ96VH-E/s320/coach.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We like to think we've invented everything and pat ourselves on the back at our own ingenuity. But the latest 'invention' the driverless car is nothing new. In 1837 a man found himself on a coach and horses with no driver. His adventure was later told in a letter to Rev Nicholls of Ravenstonedale, Westmorland (now Cumbria) and published in 1877. Here it is:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"It is about forty years ago since the writer commenced a journey to Newcastle-upon-Tyne from the Bull Inn, Sedbergh, about one o'clock one severe frosty morning in midwinter, per the old Exmouth coach. The passengers consisted of myself and a lady and gentleman inside; Willy Taylor and Tom Heavyside, the driver, outside. We travelled </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">at a good speed up to Dicky Metcalfe's, the Cross Keys, Cautley, a distance of about five miles ; and being a very cold morning, Willy the Butcher and the driver went into the inn to have a taste of Dicky's gin, but left no one in charge of the horses. Consequently they got tired with waiting, and started full trot towards Kirkby Stephen. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Metcalfe hearing the horses, started off and ran a considerable distance after the coach, clothed only in nightshirt and slippers; but the speed of the horses being so great he had to give it up. During this time I was looking out of the coach windows, but never mentioned what had happened </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> to either the lady or gentleman. This part of the road was narrow and very dangerous, being entirely unprotected from a deep rocky river, so that I decided to leave the inside and hold on behind until we reached the next steep hill, called Rawthey Brow, which was about a mile further on the road; but in alighting from the step I fell upon a sheet of ice, and this prevented me from again reaching the coach, or of informing the occupants of what had occurred; but in their case ignorance was certainly bliss in crossing the moors on that dreary morning.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Still I kept on running until I reached the inn at Cross Bank, kept by Mr. Shaw, where I engaged a horse, and without saddle followed after, expecting at the bottom of each steep hill to find the coach upset; but to my great astonishment I found it standing in front of the King's Arms, Kirkby Stephen, its usual place, and the lady and gentleman in great perplexity sitting in the inn, wondering what had become of the driver and the person who had so abruptly left his seat in the coach without speaking a word, and concluded I must have been either drunk or insane, or had robbed them. But when they found their money and watches all right they could not conjecture how they had lost the coachman, nor what had caused me to decamp, until I had revealed to them the mystery, and told of the many dangers they had escaped in their journey of ten miles without any driver, while at the same time the reins were dragging about the horses' legs. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In consequence of the heavy drifts of snow which occurred in several parts of our journey the horses had to be driven to the very edge of the road. We waited some time in Kirkby Stephen, expecting the driver; but as he never made his appearance, I was compelled to mount the coach box and drove through Brough to Spittle, a distance of ten miles, at which place we obtained another driver. Before again proceeding on our </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">journey I did not omit the usual practice of opening the coach door and, in joke of course, tipping my hat to the lady and gentleman, who, instead of bestowing the usual gift, very politely acknowledged their appreciation of my exertions on their behalf." </span>Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-3314745557550621642017-02-02T13:44:00.001-08:002017-02-02T13:44:05.880-08:00Cumberland Bridal Cake<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Recipe by Babs Park</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaX6t34MzrtiJj4eTLUllmWQY5y7QrHv3mJ1JdWob-nC11pwvr74LqCz-Jb9El4_pG4rPFT2sRHPkYcrBRpBuLWQaxiMqIwCiUA0y4Br0Kki5fDViy1GirH6-5rd6pBhWZkDxYfBZIitc/s1600/bridal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaX6t34MzrtiJj4eTLUllmWQY5y7QrHv3mJ1JdWob-nC11pwvr74LqCz-Jb9El4_pG4rPFT2sRHPkYcrBRpBuLWQaxiMqIwCiUA0y4Br0Kki5fDViy1GirH6-5rd6pBhWZkDxYfBZIitc/s320/bridal.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In 19th Century Cumberland, a wedding cake with a difference formed one of the marriage customs. The bridal party, after leaving the church, repaired to a neighbouring inn, where a thin currant cake, marked in squares, though not entirely cut through, was ready for the bride’s arrival. Over her head was spread a clean linen napkin, and the bridgeroom, standing behind the bride, broke the cake over her head, which was then thrown over her and scrambled for by those in attendance. We don’t have the original recipe but ‘Grandma Park’ has devised this on the descriptions available of the cake:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Ingredients</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">●<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>4 oz (120g) self raising flour</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">●<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>2 oz (60g) butter or margarine, plus a little extra to grease baking tray</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">●<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>2 oz (60g) caster sugar</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">●<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>1½oz (45g) sultanas, raisins or currants</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">●<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>2 tbsps (40mls) water</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Method</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">●<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Pre-heat over to 350/180/gas mark 4.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">●<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sieve flour into a bowl and rub in the butter/margarine until the mixture is the consistency of fine breadcrumbs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">●<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Add the sugar and fruit and give it a good mix.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">●<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Add water to form a firm dough - if necessary add more water but only in small amounts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">●<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Roll out the dough until ¼ - ½ inch (up to 1cm) thick. Dust with a small amount of flour to stop dough sticking to the surface and the rolling pin.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">●<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Place on a greased baking tray, lightly mark the cake into squares if desired. Glaze with egg and milk mixture and place in the top of the oven for about 15 minutes or until nicely golden brown.</span><br />
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Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-86958245153831658492016-12-16T09:05:00.002-08:002016-12-22T05:29:36.675-08:00The Waterside Boggle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0p8o07LKbCetT5UJ8f-fDyktrpWkNLMHWIFVptPVmsUMAx92kWOk8qBClfEI9tTV9LQmRCrQP4unru7fXF32NU7J0Ot9OHLDbefnTfo5K3v_CFQ9BzHBNuNjNV2qw0x54_04V8X2FswA/s1600/markkent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0p8o07LKbCetT5UJ8f-fDyktrpWkNLMHWIFVptPVmsUMAx92kWOk8qBClfEI9tTV9LQmRCrQP4unru7fXF32NU7J0Ot9OHLDbefnTfo5K3v_CFQ9BzHBNuNjNV2qw0x54_04V8X2FswA/s320/markkent.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Esthwaite Water - picture by Mark Kent</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">CHRISTMAS - the traditional time for joy, laughter, blazing log fires... and ghosts. In Celtic tradition, midwinter - with its long nights - was the time when the world of the living and the world of the dead were at their closest. This gave rise to the idea that it was the season was when ghosts and spectres could walk among us. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's on Christmas Eve that Scrooge's ghosts come knocking. And I remember as a child, Christmas Eve was always when the BBC showed its late-night <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M._R._James" target="_blank">MR James</a>' horror story. So here's one haunting tale from Cumbria to scare you on your way to bed. In fact, not just any old boggle, dobbie, fetch or boggledeboo. This is easily the scariest ghost story I've come across in my researches into Cumbrian folklore.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy0ofKB2UihN-OyR5iKnu340aqo3rc5cvBOdvSyzI0V6T_ps7MKB3U2R3CLcCubLSCvuj3cx2vcQVkRWi3UKSYey3B_i3CfNv4RtpdlBB697PdAM5Z4fXp8l4PPYYy1nkshXp8UUXMFfk/s1600/lakelandartstrust.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy0ofKB2UihN-OyR5iKnu340aqo3rc5cvBOdvSyzI0V6T_ps7MKB3U2R3CLcCubLSCvuj3cx2vcQVkRWi3UKSYey3B_i3CfNv4RtpdlBB697PdAM5Z4fXp8l4PPYYy1nkshXp8UUXMFfk/s200/lakelandartstrust.jpg" width="159" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HS Cowper. Credit: Lakeland Arts Trust</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's to be found in the very dry papers of the <a href="http://cumbriapast.com/" target="_blank">Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society</a>, although variants of it have appeared in other books since. The story is told by 19th century antiquary and collector, Henry Swainson Cowper - usually just known as 'HS' Cowper - and relates to Claife Poorhouse which stood on the banks of Esthwaite Water. This small tarn stands in the south of the county near Coniston, in what would have been at one time north Lancashire rather than Cumbria.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">From the outset, it should be stated that this stretch of road by the Poorhouse had a long and fearful reputation for being haunted and I will talk later of some of the other ghosts reputedly seen there in the dark hours. It was generally referred to as The Waterside Boggle and HS Cowper writes that "in most cases the apparition is sighted by a night pedestrian, and when approached, suddenly and silently disappears". While researching this boggle (a Cumberland term for a type of ghost) Cowper was told about a woman still living who had actually spoken with the ghost. "Of course I interviewed her at once," he wrote. She was now elderly and somewhat of a cripple - the result of an accident in the Coniston copper mines where she had worked - but he assures us she was "yet intellectually perfectly vigorous". </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Her encounter had taken place some 30 years previously (ie about 1860). At the time she was living with - and nursing - her mother at the poorhouse. In the neighbourhood at that time was, she said, a wicked chap called 'S' who had a terrible quarrel with one Roger Dugdale. This feud led to a fight one night as Roger was landing his boat near the poorhouse. 'S' was the victor, succeeding in drowning Roger in the lake. Such an event obviously caused a stir in the community but since the woman did not know the men it was no more than scandalous gossip to her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But events took an unexpected turn one evening when the woman and her mother were sat in their rooms. She was surprised to see a man walk into the house - a man unusually dressed in his best Sunday clothes. The woman recalled: "He held out his hand to me, and said something but I didn't catch what it was. I had no idea who he was and took his hand. It was as cold as ice. He went to the mantel and struck a light with some matches." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The mysterious visitor then turned round and left as abruptly as he had arrived. The mother then turned to her daughter and said: "Bairn - whatever have you done. That was Roger Dugdale."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The daughter had never met the murder victim so had no cause to recognise his ghost. She told Cowper, "I was almost dead with terror." Her mother tried to reassure her, saying that he would never come again "as he's been spoken with and touched" but it's clear the encounter had left a permanent effect on the daughter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But what had the wandering soul said? Had he uttered the name of his killer? Sadly, the daughter had been unable to distinguish any words. And why was he dressed in his Sunday best? It's unclear what he was wearing on the day of his murder. And why should his ghost go to the poorhouse? So many questions and sadly so few answers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There was one final twist in the tale. When the daughter went back to the mantel no matches had been struck, despite her clear recollection that this is what the figure had done.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There seems little doubt this was a sincere account of a 'real' event. It's not your usual ghost story and it sends a shiver down my spine each time I read it. I have only edited it slightly for clarity and the full version is available online on the <a href="http://cumbriapast.com/cgi-bin/ms/main.pl?action=transactions" target="_blank">CWAAS archives</a>. Cowper refers to a number of the other supernatural experiences people had at this spot by Esthwaite Water but I'll leave you with just one:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"One of the vicars of the parish used to tell his friends how, walking one night from Sawrey, he was approaching the poorhouse when he observed an old lady in old fashioned bonnet walking before him. it was early in spring, and there had been a snow shower so that the road was all white. The vicar trudged along till he was abreast of the figure, and then, thinking she was probably a parishioner, he bade her 'good-night' as he passed. As there was no reply he turned to see who this unsociable old body was. To his horror, under the wide-brimmed bonnet, he saw a death-like countenance with goggle eyes, which gleamed like colour glass with a light behind them. The apparition then suddenly disappeared through a gap in the wall. The vicar, astounded, went up to the wall, but no trace of the figure could be seen. He then looked back along the road which he had come. the moon was bright, and he noticed a strange thing: The snow bore only the tracks of one pair of feet, and those were his own."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sweet dreams - and merry Christmas.</span>Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-51291200947529791382016-10-13T06:49:00.002-07:002016-10-13T06:49:34.141-07:00Dobbie Lane<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdAaB-92IeEfuZNImzITb8HMuCKQz5KVL66Qct4LzSTIMMXsvWQ0CXknlUBUK1tyiQjXle2ChsAwaLGhzNQ_q6Pwl3XwyyqapwM4j-ph43YVNEJ58eZ-iiAmKk6kIxpuDPlbo63JdqfS4/s1600/dobbie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdAaB-92IeEfuZNImzITb8HMuCKQz5KVL66Qct4LzSTIMMXsvWQ0CXknlUBUK1tyiQjXle2ChsAwaLGhzNQ_q6Pwl3XwyyqapwM4j-ph43YVNEJ58eZ-iiAmKk6kIxpuDPlbo63JdqfS4/s320/dobbie.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dobbie Lane and Dobbie Bank, Cark, Cumbria</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><i>Extract from The Annals Of Cartmel Or Annals Of Cartmel 1872 by James Stockdale, relating to the Dobbie that haunted Dobbie Lane</i></b></span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-2335ede0-be4b-6f92-27d0-87b5622757f8" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The road from the lower part of Cark to Holker did not, until about the year 1815, pass by the west end of the High Row Cottages as it does at present. The old road to Holker passed from near my house, through the place where the lower gateway now is, into Carke Villa grounds, and up the hill into where the coachhouse and stable yard of Carke Villa are at present, and then into the present Holker Lane. Where these barns, stables, and yard now are, the lane was very narrow, and overhung with high hedges, there being a deep and wide sandhole at the top. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This lane had ever had the terrific name of “Dobbie Lane!” and so terrific was it indeed, that even those who were the stoutest of heart did not pass that way to Holker on a dark night in winter without having, as the saying is in this country, “their hearts in their mouths!”. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">About the year 1809, a servant boy, then in the service of my late father, was sent with some newspapers to Mr. Kirkes’, of Holker House, one dark winter’s night about eight o’clock. He, like everyone else, had his apprehensions of “the dobbie;” still he passed through this frightful Dobbie Lane without observing anything. On his return, however, and when just beginning to descend the steep hill, he ventured to look back, when, to his infinite terror, he beheld a ball of fire following him! In an instant he took to his heels, “terror lending him wings” - particularly as he could perceive that the ball of fire, as he called it, was close behind him. In a few minutes he entered the kitchen at Carke, where were sitting some of his fellow servants, and, to their utter consternation, fell flat on the floor in a fainting fit. Very soon my father and mother, and some relatives who were staying in the house, were summoned to the kitchen to witness this extraordinary occurrence. Restoratives were administered as quickly as possible, and in about ten minutes the boy was just able to utter the word “dobbie,” and then fell into a second fit, in which he remained some time. After a while he had so far recovered as to be able, trembling and terror stricken, to make known to them what he had seen, as he has been related above. All those who heard the tale he told, of course laughed at him, believing that he was labouring under some delusion; but from what I am about to relate, the truth of which cannot be doubted, a different opinion probably will be entertained. Several years after this, about the year 1817, after Dobbie Lane had been closed, my brother, coming late one winter’s night from Cartmel, (about twelve o’clock), on passing through Hoker, saw a light opposite the gate which then led into the Pot Level, nearly opposite to where the present new schools are. As the light was an odd-looking one, and had passed across the road, and was then on the top of the opposite wall, he at first thought that some of the gamekeepers might be behind the gate with a lantern, and that the light on the wall was reflected from the lantern. Knowing that he would have, on his return from Cartmel, to pass through Cartmel Park Woods, he had provided himself with a brace of pistols, and with one of these in his hand he approached the gate into the Pot Level, when all at once the light (and a most unnatural-looking light it was) came flickering down from the top of the wall into the middle of the road, and on his approach ran before him at about ten yards’ distance, along the middle of the road, till my borther, in some astonishment, stood still; when it at once passed along the ground across the highway and up the wall, placing itself on the top a second time. Of course it was not easy at the time to account for a phenomenon of this sort. My brother then again walked forward, on which the light left the wall, and came a second time into the middle of the road, moving along the very centre as my brother walked forward, stopping short in its onward course and retiring across the road to the top of the adjoining wall on every occasion of his stopping, and as regularly leaving the top of the wall and moving along the middle of the road on his approaching it; and such were its vagaries all the way (200 yards) to the west end of the High Row Cottages, where my brother, on passing down to his own home, not a little astonished, left it, about ten yards from him, in the middle of the highway, being then quite at rest with the exception of a slight fluttering motion. The light, it may be mentioned here, was a pale (phosphoric) light, rather bright, but not flashing or sparkling, and was about the size and shape of an ordinary pineapple.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It happened that I was awaiting my brother’s return from Cartmel that night; and on mentioning what he had then just seen, I marvelled for a while, of course, and then said, “Surely this must have been ‘Will-o’th’-Wisp,’ let us go and try if we can see it again.” Accordingly we were not long in reaching the place; but it was in vain: for though we walked backwards and forwards for more than an hour along the lane and Pot Level Field, the light never appeared again. No one will doubt that this was the luminous “Jack-o’-t-Lanterns,” or ‘Will-o’th’-Wisp,’ to which the superstitious and credulous have ever ascribed extraordinary and mischievous powers, and was no doubt that “dobbie” previously mentioned, which so frightened my late father’s servant boy, and very probably from time to time many others, so as to give the name of Dobbie Lane to the old road from Carke to Holker. Even at this day, there are not a few people who, in passing on a dark night the gate leading into Carke Villa stable yard, and the hollow in Pot level Field, have not some apprehension of seeing this “dobbie” or a hobgobbling of some kind. It is well known that there are particular districts and places where this ‘Will-o’th’-Wisp may occasionally be seen, and these are about swampy grounds, stagnant ponds, churchyards, and other burial places, and it has been observed to be but little affected by storm and wind, and to retire always on the approach of anyone, and to follow occasionally when anyone retires from it. The field call ‘Pot Level’’ adjoins the old lane called Dobbie Lane; it is bowl-shaped and of course the very reverse of level, there being in the middle of it, a considerable hollow or depression, in which part, formerly, there was a rather deep pit or pond of water. Till about the year 1775 this field was rough, coppice wood, but was theng rubbed up and trenched over in the usual way. As a great quantity of stones and rubbish was turned out in this operation, the whole mass was thrown into the deep pond, so as to entirely fill it up, and some soil being laid on the surface, this part became much like the rest of the field. Anyone however looking at the hollow place in this Pot Level Field, even at the present day, will at once perceive where the pond or tarn has been, and in father proof of stones and rubbish having been thrown into the water, it may be mentioned that in the very dry summers the grass on the place turns brown, whilst in very wet weather the water rises above the stones and soil, appearing more or less on the surface.</span></div>
Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-33708289007082701392016-09-19T08:55:00.000-07:002016-11-07T05:40:20.010-08:00Finding Maggy<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqu-N0C0B-8ASTQ8o4qzm2pYOvOYol728QbWyajgFl2FbzwQvPbdgtjY44OOpxapgVB5pYkTmqYCzEMFEkrox_O-iukRImHn-J7TbNJEA8b7cd33Z_eYBFFAw9hQDbgE19Sv8Z3ffzj0/s1600/maggy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Maggy's Lonning" border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqu-N0C0B-8ASTQ8o4qzm2pYOvOYol728QbWyajgFl2FbzwQvPbdgtjY44OOpxapgVB5pYkTmqYCzEMFEkrox_O-iukRImHn-J7TbNJEA8b7cd33Z_eYBFFAw9hQDbgE19Sv8Z3ffzj0/s320/maggy.jpg" title="Maggy's Lonning" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maggy's Lonning, Loweswater</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
Finding Maggy</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Maggy's Lonning at Loweswater has not quite lost its character despite it being a tarmacked road. It is a single track road (NY 13587 21016) </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">that leads to the impossibly-small car park by Loweswater and I've always had a soft spot for it. Perhaps it's the loneliness in the north-western corner of the Lake District that gives it its appeal or perhaps it's the name. Who was Maggy and why was the lonning named after her? And there's also a packhorse bridge nearby called Maggy's Bridge (even OS mark it as such) so she appears to have been at one time a famous or well-loved person in the valley. I did once ask the farmer who Maggy was but he said no-one knew. Well, thanks to the astonishing work of the <a href="http://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/" target="_blank">British Newspaper Archives</a>, I've now found out something about her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The <a href="http://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/" target="_blank">British Newspaper Archives</a> are slowly but surely scanning in 400 years of newspaper archives into digital format, making the easily accessible and, more importantly, searchable. I've used it many times and was randomly surfing one morning when a search for lonning came up with a note about Maggy's Lonning at Loweswater. It was in The Cumberland Pacquet for 1833:<br /><br /><i><b>VILLAGE FAME</b> - A clever and worthy old lady, sister to the eldest of the three venerable men named in the preceding paragraph</i> (ie John Mirehouse, of Miresike, who died aged 102) <i>and who died at the good old age of 98 years, although never the owner of a foot of land has had the honour of having her name perpetuated in her native vale (Loweswater) in Maggy's Lonning (lane or road), Maggy's Bridge, Maggy's Gate, Maggy's House, Maggy's Garden and her 'flowers grown wild' and even the very birds in Maggy's Robin and various anecdotes of Maggy's sayings and doings. Poor Maggy! her garden no longer smiles, and her house now lies in ruins.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The preceding paragraph talked about the Mirehouse family which "furnishes such instances of longevity as are rarely to be met with". In particular it spoke of Maggy's brother, John Mirehouse, who died in 1807 at the age of 102. A further Google search revealed that <i>The Literary Panorama</i> (Published 1808) told how on his 100th birthday he "received a very numerous party of his neighbours ("all his juniors") seated in a new oak chair, and cloathed in a new coat, which, he pleasantly observed, might, with care taken, serve his life-time."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But what more of Maggy? The tantalising paragraph indicates she was indeed well loved and something of a village character but sadly not much more. Research in this age of Google can almost be too easy but a family tree on geni.com and references in Google Books revealed she had been born on St Valentine's Day 1714 in Loweswater and later married to become Margaret Longmire. She died in 93rd year (ie 1807) on Tuesday, July 14th according to <i>The Athanaeum</i> Vol 2 (published 1807) at Thrushbank, Loweswater. But the Pacquet said she lived to be 98. Further research may resolve that mystery although the burial records kindly put online by the<a href="http://www.derwentfells.com/pdfs/sources/LDF-PR2-3LoweswaterMemorialInscriptions.pdf" target="_blank"> Lorton & Derwent Fells Local History Society</a> does not include her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So for now, we can at least revive the identity of Maggy as Maggy Longmire (nee Mirehouse) who was born on February 14th, 1714 and died in 1807 or 1813. And at least we still have her lonning - and bridge.</span></div>
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Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-40877211903936415162016-09-01T01:36:00.002-07:002016-09-01T01:36:43.603-07:00Ghosts for Sale<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">IT was the day that The Whitehaven News (in Cumbria, UK) advertised Six Live Ghosts for sale. And it wasn’t even April Fool’s Day. October 20, 1932 was even a bit early for Halloween. Yet there it was: “Miscellaneous. For Sale, Six Live Ghosts. – Apply, Tannery, Egremont.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The ‘explanation’ elsewhere in the paper asks more questions than it answers but reports on a most remarkable sighting of a boggle by multiple witnesses. It’s a tale worthy of Scooby Doo but the Whitehaven News reporter seemed convinced from the outset that it was nothing but a hoax. The News’s Egremont correspondent reported: “An old tannery at Beck Green which has been in disuse for many years has been the centre of great activity since last weekend. Men, women and children armed with crude but effective weapons have been engaged in a new pastime or ‘ghost-laying’.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It seems rumours of a ghost in the building had spread through Egremont resulting in crowds of people keeping watch from the old black bridge. Among them was the Egremont correspondent who received this statement from former Sergeant Rose: “What I am going to tell you is the truth. On Thursday evening, between half-past ten and eleven o’clock, four young men came to the garage opposite in an exhausted condition. One of them was my son. He was trembling like a leaf and when I asked him what was the matter he gasped out he had seen a ghost down at the old tannery. I went to investigate and, keeping watch, I saw something rise up from the ground and float towards the tannery.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sadly our correspondent gives no more details of that sighting but the policeman returned the following night with his wife, son and other witnesses. And astonishingly the ghost once again made an appearance – this time bringing a fellow spectre with it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He said: “I left the others near the Black Bridge and secreted myself in the ruins. I looked towards the top of a small hill on the road past the tannery and suddenly I was aware of what looked like a white mist rising from the ground. It gradually assumed the shape of a human body about five feet seven inches in height. There was no head and no sign of feet. Gradually the thing, whatever it was, floated down the road until it was opposite the cart entrance to the tannery. It slowly turned towards the entrance and then I made out a similar figure by its side. I called out for the rest of the party and my wife, son and two ladies came up. What they saw terrorised them. The thing had floated up the step against which carts used to back for loading and was standing in the doorway. It paused a moment and then vanished inside. The women were terrified and ran. Presently the husband of one came and we entered the building together. We lighted a candle and looked round the room but saw nothing. There was no sign of footsteps on the dust of the floor.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The following night – a Saturday – word had spread about the Tannery boggle and more than a hundred spectators turned up. But they seemed determined to send the apparition back to its supernatural home and were armed with sticks and stones. But the ghost, which hitherto had appeared with the regularity of Hamlet’s father, failed to appear.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Mr Rose described the ghost in more detail to the Whitehaven News: “It was certainly nothing human. I particularly watched the place where its feet should have been to see how it walked, but there were no feet; it simply floated along the ground. I have been in the jungles of India and in the desert. I have seen strange sights and heard strange noises but never before have I experienced anything like this. What I have told you is the truth: the nine people whom I have mentioned by name will bear me out in that.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At one point Mr Rose and his son had thrown stones at the ghost as it stood in the doorway but the stones passed straight through the figure. And another witness was later discovered who had seen the ghost a few days before but had been too scared to say anything. Yet despite the expert testimony of Mr Rose and the other witnesses, The Whitehaven News decided it must be a hoax, a practical joke. This seems largely based on the placing of the advert in that week’s For Sale section offering six live ghosts for sale. It’s not known who placed the advert or why.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today the tannery ruins can still be seen but neither hide nor hair has been seen of the boggle.</span><br />
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<br />Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-40757750007677608042016-04-14T01:52:00.003-07:002017-06-20T03:33:40.964-07:00Beating the Bounds<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">SATURDAY, August 27 2016 will see the people of Caldbeck walk the boundaries of their parish – a tradition held every 21 years.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Why only every 21 years is anyone's guess. Such 'beatings of the bounds' are normally held annually although there are probably only a few dozen parishes in England that continue the tradition. And Wigton must be one of the last in Cumbria.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">North of the border the tradition is more commonly continued as Common Riding or Riding the Marches and an echo of this can be found at Egremont each September when 'Riding the Boundary' sees horse riders process from the sports field to the town centre and back (ie not around the town's boundary!).</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Such traditions were usually held at Rogationtide (so that's roughly just after the fifth Sunday after Easter) and had a very clear purpose. The people of the village would walk the boundary ensuring everyone knew precisely where it was and hopefully boundary disputes could be avoided. In some parishes the procession would literally go through someone's house and out a rear window if the house was unfortunate enough to lie across the boundary!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To help 'mark' the boundary specific stones or trees would be used but a more traditional way of ensuring young people remembered might be to give them the 'bumps' at important spots or even hold them upside down and (gently) bump their head on the ground. In 1871, a perambulation in Beckermet impressed the route on their youngsters by throwing pennies into the beck which formed the boundary and allowing them to scramble after the coins. At other spots songs were sung, sports were held or tobacco distributed. The Beckermet tradition died out at the turn of the 20</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 8.8px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: super; white-space: pre-wrap;">th</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Century but was revived in 2003 as a charity fundraising venture by West Lakeland Rotary and Inner Wheel.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The only other revival of a boundary tradition that springs to mind is fell-runner Joss Naylor's beating of the Wasdale boundary in 2012 to mark the Queen's Jubilee. It's a route that stretched for 35 miles with an ascent of 11,000ft so it's probably safe to say it won't be repeated by others any time soon.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">* Here is<a href="http://www.caldbeck.org.uk/parish-boundary-walk-27th-august-2016-a-memorable-day/" target="_blank"> a report of the 2016 event</a>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">* Details have not yet been released of the Caldbeck boundary walk on August 27 but will be announced on</span><a href="http://www.caldbeck.org.uk/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">www.caldbeck.org.uk</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Patterdale also holds an annual parish walk; this year it is on Saturday, July 2. See <a href="http://www.helvellyn.com/patterdale_boundary_walk.html">www.helvellyn.com/patterdale_boundary_walk.html</a></span></span></div>
<br />Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-59782893664270758292016-04-13T05:14:00.001-07:002016-04-13T05:14:29.430-07:00The thrush's anvil<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvW3hkd0uT8s7JE3LWUdzZi2nTO6OXdmsZCYdRKPFldlOU9wddzQUFez_UO66Aj5KtLuM8RfQZnyZMPhBIQIzxcx1JBmj7obxwouqX-YRlmpLt_zct4-S4ZisheOCvENk_Q0-HC6HaqSE/s1600/derekparker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="The thrush on his anvil" border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvW3hkd0uT8s7JE3LWUdzZi2nTO6OXdmsZCYdRKPFldlOU9wddzQUFez_UO66Aj5KtLuM8RfQZnyZMPhBIQIzxcx1JBmj7obxwouqX-YRlmpLt_zct4-S4ZisheOCvENk_Q0-HC6HaqSE/s320/derekparker.jpg" title="thrush's anvil" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The thrush on his anvil. Picture: Derek Parker</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I DON'T want to go all Alfred Hitchcock on you but it seems birds have long had the ability to adapt twigs, stones and other objects into tools. A couple of years ago a video of rooks using tools did the rounds on social media. They were pictured dropping stones into a tube of water to release food and even bending a piece of wire to make a hook. They may not be ready to topple man from the top of the food chain but it's a surprising insight into creatures we may assume are, well, bird-brained. Around the world birds have been seen fishing (by dropping objects onto a river to attract fish) and using twigs to hook or tease out insects from tree bark but there are also English birds who are not shy to show off their engineering skills.</span></span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-7b990d6f-0f85-6d82-d20a-d92ff58f8b3a" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While wandering beyond Surprise View (which overlooks Derwentwater, near Keswick), I took a slight detour to look at a red squirrel feeding station. I'm not sure who operates this feeder and it's certainly not flagged up on any websites or tourist information leaflets but it's an easy spot to photograph those elusive red squirrels. However on this occasion I was there at the wrong time (squirrels go for a siesta between midday and 4pm). I was, however, able to watch the coal tits and great tits swooping on the feeder for scraps left over from the squirrels' morning feed and among them was the nuthatch. With its highly improbably black eye mask it looks like a reject from the new Batman v Superman movie. It's this distinctive black band which quickly differentiates it from that other tree-hugger, the treecreeper. The nuthatch is thankfully now a common sight in Cumbria so it's a surprise to many people to learn that it's only in the last 20 years the nuthatch has moved north to colonise our county. He's a welcome immigrant.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It should be no surprise to see the nuthatch keeping company with squirrels; they have much in common. Just like the squirrel, the nuthatch will 'bury' food – usually in tree crevices or under stones – to retrieve at a later date. But it's their engineering prowess I am reminded to note: given a particularly big nut or seed, the nuthatch will push it into a piece of bark using it as a vice to hold it steady while the bird pecks it into smaller bits.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But our most prolific workman is the thrush. And even if you're never fortunate enough to see this master craftsman at work you are likely to stumble across what is known as "the thrush's anvil". The thrush has discovered how to extract a snail from its protective shell by smashing the unfortunate mollusc against a stone (the anvil). You'll often hear the thrush at work before you see him and keep an eye out while walking for these stone anvils - they're easy to spot with the dozens of broken snail shells lying around it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Web links</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://www.rspb.org.uk/">www.rspb.org.uk</a> offers an overview of birds and their habits</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://www.thelandreader.com/">www.thelandreader.com</a> gives a glossary of the language of the landscape</span></span>Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-79846276522523069902016-03-29T12:45:00.001-07:002020-07-02T04:13:17.340-07:00Low Lonning, Gosforth<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #38761d;">A walk down Low Lonning, Gosforth</span></h2>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hall Bolton Bridge at Low Lonning, near Gosforth</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">LOW Lonning, near Gosforth is just one of the many lonnings (country lanes) that can be found in West Cumbria. A lonning is a dialect term for a very specific type of path. In the ages before rail and road, people needed to know the difference between a narrow sloping path (a rake), a trod (a path used by miners), a wath (a sand crossing across an estuary), a drovers route, a corpse road, a lonning or many other types. Many Cumbrians instinctively know what a lonning is - one of the prettier paths. It may have originated as a path to a 'loan' by a farm (the quiet place where cows were milked and villagers could buy milk, cheese or other farm produce). Very few are identified as such on maps or finger-posts (I've come across probably just half a dozen) but villagers all know where they are and what they are called. The names are glorious: Wine Lonning, Love Lonning, Fat Lonning, Thin Lonning and Squeezed Gut Lonning are just a few. You'll find others on my <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/d/viewer?mid=zGGbZIQSvUZw.kfe4Rq1aa9gg&hl=en_US&usp=sharing" target="_blank">lonning map</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Low Lonning at Gosforth was featured on Secret Britain in March 2016 and is indeed one of the nicer ones in this part of the world. Since Google Maps show it in the wrong place, this blog gives its correct location.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Name: </b>Low Lonning, Gosforth (now usually shown as Low Lane on maps)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Grid reference: </b>NY093040 - NY086028</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Post code: </b>CA20 1AS (the village centre)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Parking:</b> Free car park in village centre - please put money in the honesty box!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Toilets</b>: In the car park</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Refreshments: </b>Various pubs and cafes in Gosforth</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Other attractions nearby:</b> Guards Lonning, Bleng Lonning, Gosforth church with its famous Anglo Saxon cross; Gosforth holy well (near the church); Britain's favourite view at Wasdale; Eskdale and the La'al Ratty steam train.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Description:</b> It is not easy to park at either end of this lonning so it's safer to park in the village and walk (it is probably about an hour and a quarter round route). Head out of the village on the Eskdale road (a country lane so remember to walk single file facing oncoming traffic). Cross over the large Rowend bridge. The first footpath on the left is the start of Low Lonning. This is an ancient path that was once the main route from Wasdale to the coast (not least for the smugglers!). The earliest map showing it is 1774 and later maps indicate its start and finish in slightly different places. The first part is a driveway to Hall Bolton and is sometimes shown as Toft Lane; once you are beyond that you are in the lonning proper. It crosses an impressive stone bridge over the River Bleng which reflects its golden age as a major trade route in West Cumbria. It's an ideal place to stop for some 'bait' (a dialect term for lunch!). From the bridge the lonning rises slightly through an avenue of trees.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL7bphcIdS8FQh7izJJY8xCLrLyRLU0_nLBS_JO6FPBllErtvSWIQtuSckmNVL92Aq_VeVge2HtHO15NRMhE5NsY2UW1BlDq9YJYH3rJOnbpStlQn3U9c-unp_etqzYn2c4iHrgk7-2Ug/s1600/path.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL7bphcIdS8FQh7izJJY8xCLrLyRLU0_nLBS_JO6FPBllErtvSWIQtuSckmNVL92Aq_VeVge2HtHO15NRMhE5NsY2UW1BlDq9YJYH3rJOnbpStlQn3U9c-unp_etqzYn2c4iHrgk7-2Ug/s320/path.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The path up from the bridge</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">To your left is another footpath (the one wrongly identified on Google earth as Low Lonning). Ignore that and carry on. The path levels off and during a break in the hedges you will catch glimpses of the Wastwater screes - steep, plunging rock faces that dip into Wastwater.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7QdIKEd6xvrziOFMFt9jsNNyf46_eU7Lro1ANJTRCyOOnNgFK5lc5JTg3NRLKtejp1rkdY2EAPXzIJCItI0uKHzNRhlXcAdXtnNafZnwpaXC0m-NOIEsyCpAXFU1nimI5WppD5WkAyEo/s1600/view2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7QdIKEd6xvrziOFMFt9jsNNyf46_eU7Lro1ANJTRCyOOnNgFK5lc5JTg3NRLKtejp1rkdY2EAPXzIJCItI0uKHzNRhlXcAdXtnNafZnwpaXC0m-NOIEsyCpAXFU1nimI5WppD5WkAyEo/s320/view2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The views to Wasdale and the Wastwater Screes</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The lonning contines and rather disconcertingly, you will walk past a house and farm buildings. Don't worry! You're on a public path. Eventually the lonning dips down and you finish up at the main Wasdale Road.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Zw08RFo4NxYTNkaiX-UaJ7R9kyEUwVxET-1rNB9kQ6P9516FS6W6idNoiLyc1AQrlEIZmfHz1qDmdqkALb5JNBksTRgWfL2bic3Otbtrybs_dxamZnNHNybx7Anuhoubr4MKQ-_fPpI/s1600/tracks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Zw08RFo4NxYTNkaiX-UaJ7R9kyEUwVxET-1rNB9kQ6P9516FS6W6idNoiLyc1AQrlEIZmfHz1qDmdqkALb5JNBksTRgWfL2bic3Otbtrybs_dxamZnNHNybx7Anuhoubr4MKQ-_fPpI/s320/tracks.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lonning towards the Wasdale Road end</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Like most lonnings, this one is about half a mile long. Once on the Wasdale Road turn left and head back to Gosforth. The second path on your right will be Guards Lonning (one of the few lonnings actually signposted). This is one of our longest (probably about two miles) but is an 'industrial' lonning these days used for forest traffic. It is to be frank, one of the dullest lonnings apart from its astonishing views across to Wasdale. But don't let me stop you walking down it! You'll return to Gosforth via the hamlet of Wellington. The road is surprisingly wide because it was once going to be a road across the fells. Initial work included the widening of this road but the plans were eventually dropped.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I hope you enjoy Low Lonning and that it will encourage you to explore other lonnings. Apart from my Google map, you will find more lonnings detailed in our book, Get Lost, available from bookshops. And I'm always glad to hear about other lonnings that you know about. Email me on <a href="mailto:alanjcleaver@gmail.com">alanjcleaver@gmail.com</a>.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi0Qj60jh_qkkuN_Bl13pbH119BgBnnAQUseQGlrlXKfj61Asxxahyphenhyphenn2UIZaTB_K6Xl8ephyphenhyphen-Mq-0iv-bfXjYXEFEfKSi0xZ1ybcyliyUGwZDhUrEcKEt0_dqkjVgpuXMAiT1oX5YWnqk/s1600/gate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi0Qj60jh_qkkuN_Bl13pbH119BgBnnAQUseQGlrlXKfj61Asxxahyphenhyphenn2UIZaTB_K6Xl8ephyphenhyphen-Mq-0iv-bfXjYXEFEfKSi0xZ1ybcyliyUGwZDhUrEcKEt0_dqkjVgpuXMAiT1oX5YWnqk/s320/gate.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A gate on which to rest a while!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5678248080174948077.post-56133371523937205162016-03-09T06:53:00.001-08:002016-03-09T08:41:26.658-08:00Writing paper guidelines<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ONE of those mild frustrations for those who still hand-write letters is buying a writing pad and then finding there is no guideline sheet included. It's hard enough trying to keep handwriting neat without also having to worry that you are writing in straight lines and leaving the correct leading (spacing) between lines. But when I bought some of Basildon Bond's delightful Three Candlesticks writing paper I assumed that they would, of course, have pdfs of the guidelines on their website for just such an emergency. The pad I bought from the sorry looking display at WHSmith was wrapped in plastic and it was only when I got home that I found the guidelines had been left out. A search of <a href="http://www.basildonbond.com/" target="_blank">their website</a> revealed no one in the organisation had yet had the bright idea of putting pdfs of guidelines up on the web for their customers so instead I had to spend a few minutes with QuarkXpress to create them. I dropped a line to Basildon Bond with my pdf suggestion. So far they've not taken it up. They did send me a complimentary pack (with guidelines) which was nice of them but the covering note explained that they were no longer including guidelines in their writing pads. I was gobsmacked. Why not? Did they think</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Everyone could now write in perfect straight lines</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">They could save money by not including the guidelines</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">No one handwrites letters any more so why bother</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So for those equally frustrated handwriting lovers, I've attached the pdfs here. Enjoy.</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BztpmXJJ7yJeYmpKd3o2QTBpVGM" target="_blank">Guidelines for A5 writing paper pads</a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0BztpmXJJ7yJeeVlpdThXU0lfMzQ/view?usp=sharing" target="_blank">Guidelines for P4TO writing paper pads</a></span></li>
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Alan Cleaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08174138979741401324noreply@blogger.com0