_Concerning the Villages and Scenery of the Forest and Vale of Pickering_
"Wide horizons beckoning, far beyond the hill,
Little lazy villages, sleeping in the vale,
Greatness overhead
The flock's contented tread
An' trample o' the morning wind adown the open trail."
H.H. Bashford.
[Illustration: The Market Cross at Thornton-le-Dale.
The stocks are quite modern, replacing the old ones which were thrown away
when the new ones were made.
]
The scenery of this part of Yorkshire is composed of two strikingly
opposite types, that of perfectly wild, uncultivated moorlands broken here
and there by wooded dales, and the rich level pasture lands that occupy
the once marshy district of the Vale. The villages, some phases of whose
history we have traced, are with a few exceptions scattered along the
northern margin of the Vale. Lastingham, Rosedale Abbey, Levisham,
Lockton, and Newton are villages of the moor. Edstone, Habton, Normanby,
Kirby Misperton, and Great Barugh are villages of the Vale; but all the
rest occupy an intermediate position on the slopes of the hills. In
general appearance, many of the hamlets are rather similar, the grey stone
walls and red tiles offering less opportunity for individual taste than
the building materials of the southern counties. Despite this difficulty,
however, each village has a distinct character of its own, and in the
cases of Thornton-le-Dale and Brompton, the natural surroundings of hill,
sparkling stream, and tall masses of trees make those two villages unique.
A remarkable effect can sometimes be seen by those who are abroad in the
early morning from the hills overlooking the wide valley; one is at times
able to see across the upper surface of a perfectly level mist through
which the isolated hills rising from the low ground appear as islets in a
lake, and it requires no effort of the imagination to conjure up the
aspect of the valley when the waters of the Derwent were held up by ice in
the remote centuries of the Ice Age. Sometimes in the evening, too, a
pleasing impression may be obtained when the church bells of the villages
are ringing for evening service. At the top of Wrelton Cliff, the sound of
several peals of bells in the neighbouring villages floats upwards across
the broad pastures, and it seems almost as though the whole plain beneath
one's feet were joining in the evening song. Along the deep ravine of
Newton Dale, in all weathers, some of the most varied and richly coloured
pictures may be seen. If one climbs the rough paths that lead up from the
woods and meadows by the railway, the most remarkable aspects of the
precipitous sides are obtained. In a book published in 1836,[1] at the
time of the opening of the railway between Whitby and Pickering, a series
of very delicate steel engravings of the wild scenery of Newton Dale were
given. One of them shows the gorge under the deep gloom of a storm but
relieved with the contrast of a rainbow springing from one side of the
rocky walls. This effect may perhaps seem highly exaggerated, but on one
occasion when I was exploring part of the Dale, between Levisham and Fen
Bogs, I was astonished to see a brilliant rainbow backed by dense masses
of indigo clouds and occupying precisely the position of the one shown in
the old engraving. In such weather as this, when sudden rays of sunlight
fall upon the steep slopes of bracken and heather and on the precipitous
rocks above, the blazing colours seem almost unreal and the scenery
suggests Scotland more than any other part of England. From the edges of
the cañon, purple heather and ling stretch away on either side to the most
distant horizons, and one can walk for miles in almost any direction
without encountering a human being and rarely a house of any description.
The few cottages that now stand in lonely isolation in different parts of
the moors have only made their appearance since the Enclosures Act, so
that before that time these moors must have been one of the most extensive
stretches of uninhabited country in England. From the Saltersgate Inn,
some of the most remarkable views that the moorlands present are all
collected together in a comparatively small space. One looks towards the
west across a remarkably deep ravine with precipitous sides that leads out
of Newton Dale towards the old coach road upon which the lonely hostelry
stands. At the foot of the steep rocks, a stream trickles into a basin and
then falls downwards in a small cascade, finding its way into the
Pickering Beck that flows along the bottom of Newton Dale. From the inn
also, the great ravine we have been describing appears as an enormous
trench cut through the heathery plateau, and we are led to wonder how it
was that no legends as to its origin have survived until the present time.
The Roman road, which is supposed to have been built by Wade and his wife
when they were engaged on the construction of Mulgrave and Pickering
Castles, seems uninspiring beside the majestic proportions of Newton Dale.
To the south of the Saltersgate Inn lies the remarkable circular hollow
among the hills known as the Hole of Horcum, and the bold bluff known as
Saltersgate Brow rises like an enormous rampart from the smooth brown or
purple heather. To the west lies the peculiarly isolated hill known as
Blakey Topping, and, a little to the south, are the Bride Stones, those
imposing masses of natural rock that project themselves above the moor.
The Saltersgate Inn has lost the importance it once possessed as the
stopping-place for the coaches between Whitby and Pickering, but is still
the only place of refreshment for many miles across the moors, and its
very isolation still gives it an importance for those who seek sport or
exercise on these breezy wastes.
[Footnote 1: Henry Belcher, "The Scenery of the Whitby and Pickering
Railway," facing p. 51.]
Levisham and Lockton, the twin villages that stand upon the very edge of
the heather, are separated by a tremendous valley, and although from above
they may seem so close as to be almost continuous, in reality they are as
remote from one another as though they were separated by five or six
miles. To reach Levisham from Lockton means a break-neck descent of a very
dangerous character and a climb up from the mill and lonely church at the
bottom of the valley that makes one marvel how the village ever came to be
perched in a position of such inaccessibility. The older inhabitants of
Levisham tell you that in their young days the village was more populous,
and their statements are supported by the pathetic evidence of more than
one cottage lying in ruins with the interior occupied by a jungle of
nettles. The Vicarage is the only new building that breaks the mellowed
grey tones of the wide, grass-bordered street.
[Illustration: LOCKTON VILLAGE. The ash tree that grows on the church
tower can be seen in the drawing.]
Lockton is a larger and better preserved village. The little church with
its grey tower is noticeable on account of the vigorous ash-tree that
grows from the parapet. It has been there for many years, and I am told
that the roots have penetrated for a very great distance among the stones,
and may even be drawing their sustenance from the ground. In order to
prevent the undue growth of the tree, it is periodically cut down to one
branch, but even with this wholesale lopping the tree has forced many of
the stones from their original positions.
The interior of the church is a melancholy spectacle of churchwarden
methods, but probably Lockton will before many years receive that careful
restoration that has taken place at Ellerburne and Sinnington. The font is
one of those unadorned, circular basins which generally date from the
thirteenth century. One of the village inns is known as "The Durham Ox,"
and bears a sign adorned with a huge beast whose pensive but intelligent
eye looks down upon all passers-by. The village stocks that used to stand
outside the churchyard wall on the east side, near the present
schoolhouse, are remembered by the older inhabitants. They were taken away
about forty years ago. The few thatched cottages that remain in the
village are unfortunately being allowed to fall into disrepair, but this
is the case in most of the villages.
Newton, or, as its full name should be given, Newton-upon-Rawcliff, stands
on the verge of Newton Dale. Its small modern church has no interest for
the antiquary, but the broad roadway between the houses and the
whitewashed cottages thrown up against the strip of grass on either side
is picturesque enough.
Northwards from Newton lies the minute moorland hamlet of Stape, its
houses and its inn, "The Hare and Hounds," being perched indiscriminately
on the heather. Some miles beyond lies Goathland, that formerly belonged
to the parish of Pickering. The present church was built in 1895, but it
is here that the fine pre-Reformation chalice that originally belonged to
Pickering is still in use. The village has a large green overlooked here
and there by pretty cottages, and the proximity of the richly coloured
moorland scenery that lies spread out in every direction makes the place
particularly fascinating. The railway in the valley has brought a few new
houses to the village, but there seems little chance of any great
accretions of this nature, although the existence of the railway station
is a permanent menace to the rural character of the place.
Middleton, the hamlet immediately to the west of Pickering, lies along the
main road to Helmsley. Its interesting old church is surrounded by trees,
and might almost be passed unnoticed. The post-office is in one of the
oldest cottages. Its massive oak forks must have endured for many
centuries, and the framework of the doorway leading into the garden behind
must be of almost equal antiquity.
Between the years 1764 and 1766, John Wesley, on his northern circuit,
visited this unassuming little village and preached in the pulpit of the
parish church. A circular sun-dial bearing the motto "We stay not," and
the date 1782, appears above the porch, and the church is entered by a
fine old door of the Perpendicular period. A paddock on the west side of
the graveyard is known as the nun's field, but I have no knowledge of any
monastic institution having existed at Middleton. Aislaby, the next
village to the west, is so close that one seems hardly to have left
Middleton before one reaches the first cottage of the next hamlet. There
is no church here, and the only conspicuous object as one passes westwards
is the Hall, a large stone house standing close to the road on the south
side. Wrelton is only half a mile from Aislaby. It stands at the
cross-roads where the turning to Lastingham and Rosedale Abbey leaves the
Helmsley Road. The cottages are not particularly ancient, and there are no
striking features to impress themselves on the memory of the passer-by. At
Sinnington, however, we reach a village of marked individuality. The broad
green is ornamented with a bridge that spans the wide stony course of the
river Seven; but more noticeable than this is the very tall maypole that
stands on the green and appears in the distance as a tapering mast that
has been sloped out of perpendicular by the most prevailing winds. It was
around an earlier maypole that stood in the place of the existing one that
the scene between the "Broad Brims" and the merry-making villagers that
has already been mentioned took place nearly two centuries ago. The
present maypole was erected on May 29th 1882, replacing one which had come
into existence on the same day twenty years before. The recently restored
church of Sinnington stands slightly above the green, backed by the trees
on the rising ground to the north of the village. The new roof of red
tiles would almost lead one to imagine that the building was a modern one,
and one would scarcely imagine that it dates chiefly from the twelfth
century. A custom which is still remembered by some of the older villagers
was the roasting of a sheep by the small bridge on the green on November
23rd in Martinmas week. The children used to go round a few days before,
collecting money for the purchase of the sheep. Although these quaint
customs are no longer continued at Sinnington the green has retained its
picturesqueness, and towards evening, when the western sky is reflected in
the rippling waters of the Seven, the scene is a particularly pleasing
one.
Between Sinnington and Kirby Moorside about three miles to the west is the
site of the priory of Keldholm, but there are no walls standing at the
present time. Kirby Moorside is one of the largest villages in the
neighbourhood of Pickering. It has been thought that it may possibly have
been in Goldsmith's mind when he described the series of catastrophes that
befell the unfortunate household of the Vicar of Wakefield; but although I
have carefully read the story with a view to discovering any descriptions
that may suggest the village of Kirby Moorside, I can find very little in
support of the idea. Before the construction of the railway connecting
Pickering and Helmsley, this part of Yorkshire was seldom visited by any
one but those having business in the immediate neighbourhood; and even now
as one walks along the wide main street one cannot help feeling that the
village is still far removed from the influences of modern civilisation.
The old shambles still stand in the shadow of the Tolbooth, the somewhat
gaunt but not altogether unpleasing building that occupies a central
position in the village. Adjoining the shambles is the broken stump of the
market-cross raised upon its old steps, and close by also is the entrance
to the churchyard. The church occupies a picturesque position, and
contains, besides the Elizabethan brass to Lady Brooke, a _parvise_
chamber over the old porch. This little room is approached by a flight of
stone steps from the interior of the church and possesses a fireplace. It
has been supposed that the chamber would have been used by the monk who
served from Newburgh Priory when he had occasion to stay the night. The
brick windmill, built about a hundred years ago, that stands on the west
side of the village, is no longer in use, and has even been robbed of its
sails. At the highest part of the village street there are some extremely
old thatched cottages which give a very good idea of what must have been
the appearance of the whole place a century ago. The "King's Head" Inn and
the house adjoining it, in which the notorious Duke of Buckingham died,
are two of the oldest buildings of any size that now remain. An inn, a
little lower down the street has a picturesque porch supported by carved
posts, bearing the name "William Wood," and the date 1632. Kirby Moorside
has preserved, in common with two or three other villages in the
neighbourhood, its Christmastide mummers and waits. The mummers, who go
their rounds in daytime, are men dressed as women. They carry a small doll
in a box ornamented with pieces of evergreen and chant doggerel rhymes.
The beautiful scenery of Farndale and Kirkdale comes as a surprise to
those who visit Kirby Moorside for the first time, for the approach by
road in all directions, except from the north, does not lead one to
suspect the presence of such impressive landscapes, and from some points
Farndale has quite a mountainous aspect. The moors no longer reach the
confines of Kirby Moorside, as its name would suggest, for cultivation has
pushed back the waste lands for two or three miles to the north; but from
that point northwards all the way to Guisborough the wild brown moorland
is broken only in a few places by the fitful cultivation of the dales. The
church of Kirkdale, and what quarrying has left of the famous cave, stand
just at the point where the Hodge Beck leaves its confined course and
flows out into the flat levels of the Vale of Pickering. It is only,
however, after very heavy rains that the stony course of the stream at
this point shows any sign of water, for in ordinary weather the stream
finds its way through underground fissures in the limestone and does not
appear above the ground for a considerable distance. The little church of
Kirkdale, remarkable for its Saxon sun-dial and other pre-Norman remains,
is surrounded by masses of foliage, and the walk up the dale from this
point to the romantically situated Cauldron Mill is one of remarkable
beauty. As one follows the course of the beck higher and higher towards it
source north of Bransdale, the densely wooded sides become bare, and wide
expanses and the invigorating moorland air are exchanged for the rich land
scents and the limited views.
[Illustration: The "Black Hole" of Thornton-le-Dale. An underground cell
beneath some cottages which was formerly the village prison.]
The village of Lastingham is surrounded by beautiful hills and is almost
touched by the moors that lie immediately to the north. The Church has
already been described, and we have heard something of the strange story
of the ingenious methods for increasing his income of a former
curate-in-charge. Cropton occupies a position somewhat similar to that of
Newton, being on high ground with commanding views in all directions. The
little church is modern, but it has the stump of an ancient cross in the
graveyard, and commands a magnificent view towards the west and north. It
is in connection with this cross that a curious old rhyme is mentioned in
an old guide.
"On Cropton Cross there is a cup,
And in that cup there is a sup;
Take that cup and drink that sup,
And set that cup on Cropton Cross top."
There is a cottage on the east side of the street bearing the date 1695,
and the motto "Memento Mori," with the initials N.C., but more
interesting than this is one on the same side but at the southern end of
the village, and standing back more than the rest. This was used as a
madhouse at a time well remembered by some of the villagers. People from
Pickering and the surrounding district were sent here for treatment, and
I am told that the proprietor possessed a prescription for a very
remarkable medicine which was supposed to have a most beneficial effect
upon his partially demented patients. I am also told that this
prescription was given to one, Goodwill of Lastingham, who still possesses
it. Cropton is only a short distance from the Roman camps that lie all
surrounded and overgrown with dense plantations, so that it is impossible
for a stranger to discover their position unless he be lucky enough to
find some one close at hand to carefully describe the right track.
West of Pickering lies that long string of villages, generally less than
two miles apart, that extends nearly all the way to Scarborough. The first
point of interest as one goes towards Thornton-le-Dale from Pickering is
the grass-grown site of Roxby Castle, the birthplace of Sir Hugh Cholmley,
and the scene, as we know, of those conflicts between the retainers of Sir
Roger Hastings and Sir Richard Cholmley. The position must have been a
most perfect one for this ancient manor house, for standing a little
higher than the level ings and carrs of the marshy land, it was protected
from the cold northern winds by the higher ground above. From the top of
the steep hill west of the village, Thornton-le-Dale has an almost idyllic
aspect, its timeworn roofs of purple thatch and mellowed tiles nestling
among the masses of tall trees that grow with much luxuriance in this
sheltered spot at the foot of the hills. The village is musical with the
pleasant sound of the waters of the beck that flows from Dalby Warren, and
ripples along the margins of the roadways, necessitating a special
footbridge for many of the cottages. The ancient stocks that stood by the
crossroads have unfortunately disappeared, and in their place may be seen
the pathetic sight of a new pair that are not even a close copy of the old
ones. The old stone cross that stands by the stocks has not been replaced
by a modern one, and adds greatly to the interest of the central portion
of the village. On the road that leads towards Ellerburne there stand some
old cottages generally known as the Poorhouse. They are built on sloping
ground, and on the lower side there is a small round-topped tunnel leading
into a little cell dug out of the ground beneath the cottages. This little
village prison was known as the "Black Hole," and was in frequent use
about fifty years ago. An old resident in the village named Birdsall, who
is now in the Almshouses, remembers that the last woman who was placed in
the Black Hole was released by four men who forcibly broke their way in.
The quaint little church of Ellerburne and the few antique cottages that
make up the hamlet lie about a mile from Thornton up the steep valley to
the north. The hills on either side are crowned with plantations, but
farther up the dale appear the bare slopes of the edge of the moors.
Allerston lies at right angles to the main road. It is full of quaint
stone cottages, and is ornamented by the square tower of the church and
the cheerful brook that flows along the road side. The church at Ebberston
stands aloof from the village at the edge of the small park belonging to
the Hall. The situation is a very pleasant one, and the building attracts
one's attention on account of the wide blocked-up arch that is conspicuous
in the south wall west of the porch.
The next village westwards is Snainton, a more compact and town-like
hamlet than most of the others in the district. The church having been
rebuilt in about 1835, the place is robbed of one of its chief
attractions.
Brompton has already been mentioned in connection with Wordsworth's
wedding. The view over the bright green pastures of the Vale when seen
from the church porch is of conspicuous beauty, and the ponds that are
numerous in the village help to make picturesque views from many points.
The Hall is a large building possessing a ponderous bulk but little charm,
and it is only by the kindly aid of the plentiful trees and an extensive
growth of ivy that the squire's house does not destroy the rural sweetness
of the village.
Wykeham has a new church with a massive spire, but the tower of the old
building has fortunately been allowed to remain, and now answers the
purpose of a lich-gate. Only a few walls of the abbey now remain in close
proximity to Lord Downe's recently enlarged house.
[Illustration: HUTTON BUSCEL CHURCH.
The lower part of the tower is of Norman work. The head of the churchyard
cross is modern.
]
The church of Hutton Buscel is externally one of the most picturesque in
the district, and the pretty churchyard on steeply falling ground is a
charming feature of the village. The old Hall of the Osbaldestons is only
represented by the massive gates that give access to the schools built on
the site of the house that was burnt down about a century ago.
A curious story is told of Bishop Osbaldeston, whose monument is to be
seen in the church. During his stay at Hutton Buscel he often amused
himself with riding about the neighbourhood and conversing with any one he
happened to meet upon the road. "One morning he saw a chimney-sweeper's
boy laid on the roadside, whom he accosted as follows:--'Well, my lad,
where hast thou been this morning?' 'Sweeping your chimnies,' replied the
lad. 'And how much hast thou earned then?' said his lordship. 'Fifteen
shillings, my lord.' After his lordship had observed that he thought it a
very good business, the lad says, 'Yes, my lord, you see that _we black
coats_ get good livings for very little work.'"
The smaller villages of the Vale are without any particular interest in
themselves, apart from the wide and expansive landscapes that stretch away
in all directions to the enclosing hills that in distant times formed the
boundaries of the lake.
Great Habton has a small chapel of ease of very recent erection.
Ryton is chiefly composed of two or three farms and a dilapidated little
red brick building that scarcely deserves the name of church. The lane to
this hamlet from Great Habton is remarkable for the series of about a
dozen gates across the roadway.
Brawby and Butterwick have no particular features that impress themselves
on the mind, and Great Barugh, though more picturesque than either of
these, is chiefly interesting on account of its past.
Normanby lies on the dead level of the plain, and is watered by the Seven,
that flows between high embankments throughout most of its course after
leaving the high ground at Sinnington.
Salton lies a little to the west and is interesting on account of its
beautiful little Norman church. The cottages are situated on a patch of
green, and the whole place has a cheerful and tidy appearance.
At Kirby Misperton there is a very green pond by the church, and the
remains of the stocks may still be seen by the pretty rose-covered cottage
that contains the post-office. Many of the cottages were rebuilt between
1857 and 1877, the dates being conspicuous on their big gables.