nature, as one would naturally expect in a county where the Church has
predominated for many centuries, the contrary is the case. All the
best-known legends are of deadly war waged with some uncouth or
venomous monster, in which, without exception, some local hero,
Jack-the-Giant-Killer-like, comes off victorious.
_The Dun Cow._
Visitors to Durham rarely leave without having the sculptured panel
representing the famous Dun Cow on the cathedral front pointed out to
them.
The legend runs that the monks, having fled from Chester-le-Street and
rested with the body of the saint for some time at Ripon, were desirous
of returning to Chester. "Coming with him (St. Cuthbert) on the east
side of Durham to a place called Ward-lawe, they could not with all
their force remove his body from thence, which seemed to be fastened to
the ground, which strange and unexpected accident wrought great
admiration in the heart of the bishops, monks, and their associates,
and, ergo, they fasted and prayed three days with great reverence and
devotion, desiring to know by revelation what they should do with the
holy body of St. Cuthbert, which thing was granted unto them, and
therein they were directed to carry him to Dunholme (Durham). But being
distressed because they were ignorant where Dunholme was, see their good
fortune. As they were going a woman that lacked her cow did call aloud
to her companion to know if she did not see her, who answered with a
loud voice that her cow was in Dunholme, a happy and heavenly echo to
the distressed monks, who by that means were at the end of their
journey, where they should find a resting-place for the body of their
honoured saint."
[Illustration: THE DUN COW.]
_The Brawn of Brancepeth._
At what time the brawn, or boar, ceased to exist as a wild animal in
Britain is uncertain, but it was at one time a common inhabitant of our
British forests, and protected by the law in the tenth and eleventh
centuries.
The village of Brancepeth (a corruption of Brawn’s path) is said to have
derived its name from a formidable brawn of vast size, which made his
lair on Brandon Hill, and walked the forest in ancient times, and was a
terror to all the inhabitants from the Wear to the Gaunless. The
marshy, and then woody, vale extending from Croxdale to Ferry Wood was
one of the brawn’s favourite haunts. According to tradition, Hodge of
Ferry, after carefully marking the boar’s track near Cleves Cross, dug a
pitfall, slightly covered with boughs and turf, and then, toiling on his
victim by some bait to the treacherous spot, stood, armed with his good
sword, across the pitfall--“at once with hope and fear his heart
rebounds."
At length the gallant brute came trotting on its onward path, and,
seeing the passage barred, rushed headlong on the vile pitfall to meet
its death. It is generally believed that this champion of Cleves sleeps
in Merrington churchyard, beneath a coffin-shaped stone, rudely
sculptured with the instruments of the victory--a sword and spade on
each side of a cross.
Another stone, supposed to be the remnant of a cross, stands on the hill
near the farm of Cleves Cross, and is said to have probably been raised
on the same occasion. It was not unusual, in England or abroad, when a
man had slain a boar, wolf, or spotted pard, to bear the animal as an
ensign in his shield. We believe that the seal of Roger de Ferry still
remains in the treasury at Durham, exhibiting his old antagonist, a boar
passant. The seal of his daughter Maud, wife of Alan of Merrington,
shows the boar’s head erased.
_The Pollard Boar._
A family of the name of Pollard was seated at an early period in the
parish of Bishop Auckland; and one of their estates was called Pollard’s
Dene, and the ceremony of presenting a falchion to the Bishop soon after
his entrance into the See was performed by the possessors of Pollard’s
lands.
The legend of how a Pollard gained this land runs as follows:
The King offered to anyone who would bring the head of a wild boar,
which destroyed man and beast, to his palace "a princely guerdon," and
the Bishop of Durham, who passed the greater part of the year at
Auckland Castle, having also promised a large reward, a member of the
ancient family of Pollard determined to kill the brute, or die in the
attempt. So this courageous knight armed himself, mounted his trusty
steed, and rode to the lair of the boar, and noted its track. After
tying his horse to a tree, out of its regular course, he climbed a
beech-tree under which the monster often passed, and shook down a large
quantity of ripe beechmast.
There he waited until the boar came, and had the satisfaction of seeing
it make a good meal. In time it showed signs of drowsiness, and
commenced moving from the place. Pollard, feeling that the time had come
for action, made an onslaught on the boar. After so hearty a meal, it
was not in a fighting humour, but nevertheless made a fierce resistance,
and taxed to the utmost the prowess of the knight. The encounter lasted
the greater part of the night, and the welcome rays of the sun burst
forth as he severed the head from the trunk of the boar. Having cut out
its tongue and placed it in his wallet, he decided to rest for a short
time under a tree; but a deep sleep overcame him, and led to a serious
disappointment, for when he awoke he discovered that the head had been
taken away. He was in great despair, for he had not the trophy to take
to the King to obtain the promised prize; so, mounting his horse, he
rode to the Bishop and told his tale, and, showing the tongue, his
lordship, who was about to dine, rejoiced to hear the good news, and, as
a reward, promised the knight as much land as he could ride round during
the hour of dinner. When he next came before the prelate, he startled
the latter by intimating that he had ridden round his castle, and
claimed it and all it contained as his meed. The Bishop was loath to
part with his stronghold, but was bound to admit the validity of the
claim, and eventually made a compromise by granting him an extensive
freehold estate known to this day as Pollard’s Land. These broad acres
were given with the condition attached that the possessor should meet
every Bishop of Durham on his first coming to Auckland, and present to
him a falchion with this speech: "My lord, I, in behalf of myself as
well as several others, possessors of the Pollard’s lands, do humbly
present your lordship with this falchion, at your first coming here,
wherewith, as the tradition goeth, he slew of old a mighty boar, which
did much harm to man and beast; and by performing this service we hold
our lands."
Hutchinson, rather curiously, quotes a letter signed "R. Bowser,"
commencing: "Sir, inclosed you have the speech my brother Pewterer gave
me out of Lord Bishop Cosin’s old Book," in which the boar is described
as "a venomous serpent."
Dr. Longley, created Bishop of Durham in the year 1856, was the last
Bishop to whom the falchion was presented.
The crest of the Pollard family is an arm holding a falchion. As to the
missing head, it is related that while Pollard slept the head of the
Northumbrian family of Mitford passed, saw what had occurred, seized the
head, and rode with all speed to the King, and gained the reward. The
champion Pollard also sought an interview with His Majesty, and giving
the facts, showed that the head presented had not a tongue; he was,
however, dismissed without any recompense, the King declining to
entertain a second claim.
There is in the parish church of St. Andrew’s Auckland an old wooden
effigy representing a knight in a suit of chain armour, cross-legged,
with his feet resting on a boar, and it is generally believed that this
monument was erected in memory of our hero.
In sequel it should perhaps be added that the Mitfords have for many
centuries borne as their crest two arms holding a sword pierced through
the head of a boar; and as a commentary, perhaps, upon the principle
that fortune
[Illustration: HILTON CASTLE FROM THE NORTH.]
helps those who help themselves, they flaunt the pious motto:
GOD + CARYTHE + FOR + US.
_The Cau’d Lad of Hilton._
The grey old castle of Hilton has long had the reputation of being
haunted by a bar-guest, or local spirit, known as the "cau’d lad of
Hilton," or "cowed lad of Hilton." His history, however, seems to be
rather mixed, and to partake of the nature of the genuine ghost as well
as that of a brownie. This brownie was seldom seen, but often heard
engaged in playing pranks in the great hall, or in the kitchen after the
servants had retired for the night. If they left the kitchen orderly and
clean, the brownie, angered at having his work taken out of his hands,
would throw all the crockery and kitchen utensils about the room, so
that when the servants appeared in the morning a picture of confusion
met their eyes. Of course, as a rule, they found it worked best not to
attempt to leave things tidy, and then the brownie would exert himself
through the night, and all would be straight and clean for the maids
when they rose.
The servants, however, engaged by the last Baron thought his pranks
rather wearisome, and determined to attempt his banishment by the usual
means employed in such cases--that is, by leaving for his express use
some article of clothing, or some toothsome delicacy to tempt his
palate. They resorted to a green cloak and hood as the best means of
driving him away. However, the brownie knew what they were after, and
many a time during the making of the cloak and hood could be heard
singing in the dead of night--
"Wae’s me, wae’s me!
The acorn is not yet
Grown upon the tree,
That’s to grow the wood,
That’s to make the cradle,
That’s to rock the bairn,
That’s to grow the man,
That’s to lay me."
The green cloak and hood were finished at length; the servants laid them
down before the fire in the great kitchen, and watched at a prudent
distance. At midnight the "cau’d lad" glided in, surveyed the garments,
put them on, frisked about, and when the cock crew disappeared, saying--
"Here’s a cloak and there’s a hood:
The Cau’d Lad of Hilton will do no more good."
And so disappeared for ever.
The appearance of this brownie seems to have been confused with another
ghost.
The apparition of a boy who was killed by one of the Barons often used
to be seen--sometimes, it is said, with his head under his arm.
A Baron of Hilton, many years ago, ordered his horse to be got ready. He
was a passionate man, and a fearsome one to cross. The stable-boy
foolishly fell asleep. For awhile the lord waited for his horse, and
then, in a lively temper, went off to the stable and found the sleeping
boy. He struck the boy with a hay-fork and killed him there and then.
Horrified at what he had done, he covered the body with straw till
night, and then threw it into a pond at the south side of the park,
where, many years afterwards, the skeleton of a boy was discovered. So
runs the legend.
It is interesting to note that a boy named Roger Skelton was killed by
Robert Hilton, a brother of the then Baron, in July, 1609.[7]
There was a haunted room in the castle called the "cau’d lad’s room,"
which was never used. Here, it is said, the spirit of the murdered boy
made its residence. For many years there has been no appearance of the
ghost, though there are persons who affirm that, if they have not
actually seen it, they have heard it about the castle.
_The Lambton Worm._
In Plantagenet days the Lord of Lambton had a godless son, who
desecrated the Sabbath by fishing in the Wear, and while so doing he
hooked a strange worm with nine breathing-holes on either side of its
throat. This queer find he threw into a well near by, since known as
"the Worm Well," and here the worm grew until it was too large for the
well. It then emerged, and betook itself by day to the river, where it
lay coiled round a rock in the middle of the stream, and by night to a
neighbouring hill, round whose base it would twine itself. Meanwhile it
continued to grow so fast that it soon could encircle the hill three
times. This hill, which is on the north side of the Wear, and about a
mile and a half from old Lambton Hall, is oval in shape and still called
the Worm Hill. In the meantime the heir of Lambton had turned over a new
leaf, and departed as a Crusader to the Holy Land. The worm still grew,
and came daily ravaging for food. The milk of nine cows hardly sufficed
it for a meal, and if this were not forthcoming it slayed both man and
beast. Many knights tried their prowess against the worm, but with no
avail, for no sooner was the worm cut in two than the pieces grew
together again. The poor Lord of Lambton was in sore trouble when, after
seven long years, the heir of Lambton returned home, a much sadder and
wiser man. Seeing the result of his former evil practices, he determined
to kill the enormous beast. Several attempts he made without success,
because the parts would come together whenever he cut it in two. At last
he consulted a witch of the neighbourhood, and she told him if he came
to the fight clothed in armour studded with razors, and stood in the
swift stream, he would conquer; but that he, like Jephthah, must kill
the first living creature that met him after the victory. So to meet
this latter difficulty he told his old father to listen, and when he
gained the victory he would blow three notes upon his bugle, then his
father was to loosen his favourite greyhound, which would come to the
bugle’s call.
Having made all preparations, the heir started on his mission. Standing
in midstream, he waited the onset of the worm. It came, and seeing its
enemy, wound itself about him; but as it tightened its hold, the razors
cut it into many pieces, which, falling into the water, were swept away
by the current, and so were unable to grow together again. Thus the
victory was won, and the bugle sounded; but the old lord, overjoyed at
the thought of his son’s victory, forgot to let loose the hound, and ran
himself to meet the conqueror. Here now arose a difficulty; the son
would not be a parricide. He went again to the witch, and she told him
that the only alternative was the doom that none of his family should
die a peaceful death, to the seventh, or some say the ninth, generation.
Tradition sayeth that this alternative was accepted, and that no head of
the family died on his bed for several centuries after.
There are two stone figures of some antiquity preserved at Lambton
Castle. One of these is apparently an effigy of our hero in the middle
of the fray, only the worm has ears, legs, and a pair of wings. The
other figure is a female one, and marked by no very characteristic
features.
_The Sockburn Worm._
The legend of the Sockburn worm is very similar to that of the Pollard
boar. It is recorded in an old manuscript that Sir John Conyers, knight,
slew a monstrous and poisonous wyvern, or worm, which had devoured many
people in fight, for the scent of the poison was so strong no person
could stand it. But before making this enterprise,
[Illustration: LAMBTON CASTLE IN 1835.]
having but one son, he went to the church of Sockburn in complete
armour, and offered up his only son to the Holy Ghost. The place where
this great serpent lay was called Graystane. The gray stone is still
pointed out in a field near the church. For more than six hundred years
the manor of Sockburn was held by the singular service of presenting a
falchion to the Bishop of Durham on his first entering the diocese, and
it was the duty of the Lord of the Manor of Sockburn, or his
representative, to meet His Grace at the middle of Sockburn Ford, or on
Croft Bridge, which spans the River Tees, and after hailing him Count
Palatine and Earl of Sadberge, to present him with a falchion, saying:
"My Lord Bishop, I here present you with the falchion wherewith the
champion Conyers slew the worm, dragon, or fiery flying serpent which
destroyed man, woman, and child, in memory of which the King then
reigning gave him the manor of Sockburn, to hold by this tenure, that
upon the first entrance of every Bishop into the county this falchion
should be presented." The Bishop, after receiving the weapon in his
hand, promptly and politely returned it, and at the same time wished the
Lord of Sockburn health and a long enjoyment of the manor.
This ceremony was last performed in April, 1826, when the steward of Sir
Edward Blackett, the Lord of Sockburn Manor, met, on Croft Bridge, Dr.
Van Mildert, the last Prince-Bishop of Durham. The tenure is mentioned
in the inquisition post-mortem held on the death of Sir John Conyers in
the year 1396. The falchion was formerly kept at the manor-house of
Sockburn: the blade is broad, and 2 feet 5 inches long, and on the
pommel of the weapon, which is of bronze, are two shields; on one side
are the three lions of England, as borne by the Plantagenet monarchs
from John to Edward III., and the eagle displayed on the other side is
said to belong to Morcar, the Saxon Earl of Northumberland. This relic
was also represented on one of the stained-glass windows of Sockburn
Church. On a marble monument, placed to the memory of an old member of
the Conyers family, the serpent and falchion were sculptured.
_The Pickled Parson._
The present rectory house at Sedgefield, erected by the Rev. George,
Viscount Barrington, was preceded by a castellated edifice, which, after
serving the purpose of a rectory house for some years, was burnt down in
1792. During a lengthened period previous to the destruction of the old
house the inhabitants of Sedgefield appear to have been greatly
disturbed by the visits of an apparition known as the "Pickled Parson,"
which, it was confidently declared, wandered in the neighbourhood of the
rector’s hall, "making night hideous." Whose wandering shade the ghost
was supposed to have been is explained as follows: A rector’s wife had
the ill-luck to lose her husband about a week before the farmer’s tithes
fell due. Prompted by avarice, she cunningly concealed his death by
salting the body of her departed spouse, and retaining it in a private
room. Her scheme succeeded, she received the emoluments of the living,
and the next day made the decease of the rector public.
_The Picktree Brag._
Picktree, near Chester-le-Street, is famous for two reasons--first,
because it was the home of the heroine of the popular song, "Ailsie
Marley," and, secondly, because it was the haunt of one of those
mischievous goblins known as the Picktree Brag. Sir Cuthbert Sharp gives
an account of the apparition, as told by an old woman of respectable
appearance, of about ninety years of age, living near the spot, probably
at Pelton. The old woman said: "I never saw the Brag distinctly, but I
frequently heard it. It sometimes appeared like a calf with a white
handkerchief about its neck, and a bushy tail. It came also like a
galloway, but more often like a coach-horse, and went trotting along the
lonnin, afore folks, settin’ up a great nicker and a whinney every now
and then; and it came frequently like a dickass, and it always stopped
at the pond at the four lonnin ends, and nickered and whinnied. My
brother saw it like four men holding up a white sheet. I saw then sure
that some near relation was going to die, which was true. My husband
once saw it in the image of a naked man without a head. I knew a man of
the name of Bewick that was so frightened that he hanged himself for
fear on’t. Whenever the midwife was sent for it always came up with her
in the shape of a galloway. Dr. Harrison wouldn’t believe in it, but he
met it one night as he was going home, and it ’maist killed him; but he
never would tell what happened, and didn’t like to talk about it, and
whenever the Brag was mentioned he sat tremblin’ and shakin’ by the
fireside. My husband had a white suit of clothes, and the first time he
ever put them on he met the Brag, and never had them on afterwards but
he met with some misfortune; and once when he met the Brag, and he had
his white suit on (being a bold man), and having been at a christening,
he was determined to get on the Brag’s back, but when he came to the
four lonnin ends the Brag joggled him so sore that he could hardly keep
his seat, and at last it threw him off into the middle of the pond, and
then ran away, setting up a great nicker and laugh, just for all the
world like a Christian. But this I know to be true of my own knowledge,
that when my father was dying the Brag was heard coming up the lonnin
like a coach and six, and it stood before the house, and the room
shaked, and it gave a terrible yell when my father died, and then it
went chatterin’ and gallopin’ down the lonnin as if yeben and yerth was
comin’ together."
These northern ghosts or goblins have been very well described in the
following verse attributed to Ben Jonson:
"Sometimes I meete them like a man,
Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound,
And to a horse I turn me can,
To trip and trot about them round.
But if to ride
My backe they stride,
More swift than wind away I go;
O’er hedge and lands,
Through pools and ponds,
I whirrey laughing, ho, ho, ho!"
NAME-PLACES IN THE DURHAM DALES
BY WILLIAM MORLEY EGGLESTONE
When Julius Cæsar conquered Britain, he found the island peopled by
Celts--a branch of the great family of nations called the Aryan, or
Indo-European, which spread over the world from Central Asia. The
Western branches, which rolled in successive waves over Europe, included
the Celts, who, according to the Greek traveller Pytheas, were in the
fourth century before the Christian era quite at home in Britain, for he
there saw growing in the fields corn which the farmers took in sheaves
to the barns, in which were threshing-floors.
In Weardale, situated in the western and mountainous part of the county
of Durham, and surrounded by brown and heath-clad fells, the ancient
Briton lived in the limestone caves, and hunted in the oaken forests. In
the Wear Valley, near Hamsterley, and about seven miles east of
Stanhope, there is a remarkable relic of the ancient Britons. This
ancient fortification--like many other works constructed by the Britons
of old, such as the Dene Holes of Essex and the Cliff Castles--has its
name, and is called The Castles. The treasure of Heatheryburn Cave, at
Stanhope, consisted of bone knives and pins, boar tusks, bronze and jet
ornaments, spearheads and bronze celts, with prehistoric human skulls,
showing considerable activity of the natives who manufactured and formed
the various rude implements. Apart from these landmarks, there have come
down to us in names of places the Celtic roots the _ray_ and the _tay_,
which we find in Lang Tay, the name of a small but long tributary stream
of water in Burnhope; and in Reahope, a tributary hope to Stanhope, and
which empties its waters into Stanhope Burn, a tributary of the River
Wear.
The Roman power seems to have been extended to Weardale, for the two
Roman altars found at Bolihope and Eastgate, and the denarii found at
Westgate, prove that this lead-mining dale was well known to those
ruling and wall-building people.
Soon after the Romans left, the Anglo-Saxons--including the Jutes, the
Saxons, and the English--established themselves along the eastern coast
of Britain, and these tribes of the Teutonic family took a firm grasp of
the land, and planted the roots of the English nation.