Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 51134-h.htm or 51134-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/51134/pg51134-images.html)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/files/51134/51134-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/bookofdartmoor00bari
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
A BOOK OF DARTMOOR
* * * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
THE LIFE OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE
THE TRAGEDY OF THE CÆSARS
STRANGE SURVIVALS
SONGS OF THE WEST
A GARLAND OF COUNTRY SONG
OLD COUNTRY LIFE
YORKSHIRE ODDITIES
OLD ENGLISH FAIRY TALES
A BOOK OF GHOSTS
THE VICAR OF MORWENSTOW
A BOOK OF NURSERY SONGS AND RHYMES
A BOOK OF FAIRY TALES
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME
A BOOK OF BRITTANY
A BOOK OF CORNWALL
A BOOK OF DEVON
A BOOK OF NORTH WALES
A BOOK OF SOUTH WALES
A BOOK OF THE RHINE
A BOOK OF THE RIVIERA
A BOOK OF THE PYRENEES
* * * * * *
[Illustration: YES TOR]
A BOOK OF DARTMOOR
by
S. BARING-GOULD
With Sixty Illustrations
Second Edition
Methuen & Co.
36 Essex Street W.C.
London
First Published July 1900
Second Edition January 1907
TO THE MEMORY OF
MY UNCLE
THE LATE
THOMAS GEORGE BOND
ONE OF THE PIONEERS OF
DARTMOOR EXPLORATION
PREFACE
At the request of my publishers I have written _A Book of Dartmoor_.
I had already dealt with this upland district in two chapters in my
_Book of the West_, vol. i., "Devon." But in their opinion this wild
and wondrous region deserved more particular treatment than I had
been able to accord to it in the limited space at my disposal in the
above-mentioned book.
I have now entered with some fulness, but by no means exhaustively,
into the subject; and for those who desire a closer acquaintance with,
and a more precise guide to the several points of interest on "the
moor," I would indicate three works that have preceded this.
1. Mr. J. Brooking Rowe in 1896 republished the _Perambulation of
Dartmoor_, first issued by his great-uncle, Mr. Samuel Rowe, in 1848.
The original work was written by a man whose mind was steeped in the
crude archæological theories of his period. The new editor could not
dispense with this matter, which pervaded the work, without a complete
recasting of the book, and this he was reluctant to attempt. He limited
himself to cautioning the reader to put no trust in these exploded
theories. The result is that the reader is tripping over uncertain
ground, never knowing what is to be accepted and what rejected.
2. Mr. J. H. W. Page's _Exploration of Dartmoor_, 1889, is admirable
as a guide. The author, however, was unhappily ignorant of prehistoric
archæology, and allowed himself to be led astray by the false
antiquarianism that had marked the early writers. Consequently, his
book is capital as a guide to what is to be seen, but eminently
unreliable in its explanation of the character and age of the
antiquities.
3. A capital book is Mr. W. Crossing's _Amid Devonia's Alps_, 1888,
which is wholly free from pseudo-antiquarianism. It is brief, it is
small and cheap, and an admirable handbook for pedestrians.
In no way do I desire to supersede these works. I have taken pains
rather to supplement them than to step into the places occupied by
their writers.
The plan I have adopted in this gossiping volume is to give a general
idea of the moor and of its antiquities--the latter as interpreted
by up-to-date archæologists--and then to suggest rambles made from
certain stations on the fringe, or in the heart of the region.
Here and there it has been inevitable that I should twice mention the
same object of interest, once in the introductory portion, and again
when I have to refer to it as coming within the radius of a proposed
ramble.
As a boy I had an uncle, T. G. Bond, who lived near Moreton Hampstead,
and who was passionately devoted to Dartmoor. He inspired me with the
same love. In 1848 he presented me, as a birthday present, with Rowe's
_Perambulation of Dartmoor_. It arrested my attention, engaged my
imagination, and was to me almost as a Bible. When I obtained a holiday
from my books, I mounted my pony and made for the moor. I rode over it,
round it, put up at little inns, talked with the moormen, listened to
their tales and songs in the evenings, and during the day sketched and
planned the relics that I then fondly supposed were Druidical.
The child is father to the man. Years have rolled away. I have wandered
over Europe, have rambled to Iceland, climbed the Alps, been for some
years lodged among the marshes of Essex--yet nothing that I have
seen has quenched in me the longing after the fresh air, and love of
the wild scenery of Dartmoor. There is far finer mountain scenery
elsewhere, but there can be no more bracing air, and the lone upland
region possesses a something of its own--a charm hard to describe, but
very real--which engages for once and for ever the affections of those
who have made its acquaintance. "After all said," observed my uncle to
me one day, when my father had dilated on the glories of the Pyrenees,
"Dartmoor is to itself, and to me--a passion." And to his memory I
dedicate this volume.
My grateful thanks are due to Messrs. R. Burnard, P. F. S. Amery, J.
Shortridge, and C. E. Robinson for permission to employ photographs
taken by them.
S. BARING-GOULD
LEW TRENCHARD, DEVON
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BOGS 1
II. TORS 14
III. THE ANCIENT INHABITANTS 29
IV. THE ANTIQUITIES 52
V. THE FREAKS 74
VI. DEAD MEN'S DUST 82
VII. THE CAMPS 97
VIII. TIN-STREAMING 108
IX. LYDFORD 124
X. BELSTONE 144
XI. CHAGFORD 157
XII. MANATON 171
XIII. HOLNE 193
XIV. IVYBRIDGE 209
XV. YELVERTON 220
XVI. POST BRIDGE 241
XVII. PRINCETOWN 259
ILLUSTRATIONS
FULL-PAGE
YES TOR _Frontispiece_
From a drawing by E. A. Tozer, Esq.
A TOR, SHOWING GRANITE WEATHERING _To face page_ 14
From a photograph by J. Shortridge, Esq.
VIXEN TOR " 18
From a photograph by J. Shortridge, Esq.
ROCKS BY HEY TOR " 24
From a photograph by J. Amery, Esq.
THE PEDIGREE OF A TOMB " 56
From a drawing by S. Baring-Gould.
STONE ROWS, DRIZZLECOMBE " 60
From a drawing by S. Baring-Gould.
THE PEDIGREE OF A HEADSTONE " 64
From a drawing by S. Baring-Gould.
BOWERMAN'S NOSE " 74
From a drawing by A. B. Collier, Esq.
WHIT TOR CAMP " 97
Planned by Rev. J. K. Anderson, drawn by S. Baring-Gould.
BRENT TOR " 102
From a drawing by E. A. Tozer, Esq.
BLOWING-HOUSE UNDER BLACK TOR " 108
From a drawing by A. B. Collier, Esq.
ON THE LYD " 124
From a drawing by E. A. Tozer, Esq.
HARE TOR " 141
From a drawing by E. A. Tozer, Esq.
NORTH WYKE GATE HOUSE " 152
From a drawing by Mrs. C. L. Weekes.
GRIMSPOUND " 165
From a photograph by C. E. Robinson, Esq.
NEAR MANATON " 171
From a drawing by A. B. Collier, Esq.
HOUND TOR " 175
From a drawing by E. A. Tozer, Esq.
HEY TOR ROCKS " 176
From a drawing by E. A. Tozer, Esq.
LOWER TAR " 190
From a photograph by J. Amery, Esq.
THE CLEFT ROCK " 196
From a photograph by J. Amery, Esq.
YAR TOR " 199
From a drawing by E. A. Tozer, Esq.
THE DEWERSTONE " 220
From a drawing by E. A. Tozer, Esq.
SHEEPS TOR " 225
From a drawing by A. B. Collier, Esq.
PORTION OF SCREEN, SHEEPS TOR " 228
Drawn by F. Bligh Bond, Esq.
ON THE MEAVY " 231
Drawn by A. B. Collier, Esq.
LAKE-HEAD KISTVAEN " 244
From a photograph by R. Burnard, Esq.
STAPLE TOR " 269
From a photograph by J. Shortridge, Esq.
BLOWING-HOUSE ON THE MEAVY " 270
Drawn by A. B. Collier, Esq.
IN THE TEXT
PAGE
FLINT ARROW-HEADS 37
FLINT SCRAPERS 45
A COOKING-POT 46
FLINT SCRAPERS 49
FRAGMENT OF COOKING-POT 50
CROSS, WHITCHURCH DOWN 65
PLAN OF HUT, SHAPLEY COMMON 67
HUT CIRCLE, GRIMSPOUND 69
LOGAN ROCK. THE RUGGLESTONE, WIDDECOMBE 77
ROOS TOR LOGANS 79
COVERED CHAMBER, WHIT TOR 100
CONSTRUCTION OF STONE AND TIMBER WALL 101
TIN-WORKINGS, NILLACOMBE 109
MORTAR-STONE, OKEFORD 111
SLAG-POUNDING HOLLOWS, GOBBETTS 113
SMELTING IN 1556 114
PLAN OF BLOWING-HOUSE, DEEP SWINCOMBE 115
TIN-MOULD, DEEP SWINCOMBE 117
SMELTING TIN IN JAPAN 119
A PRIMITIVE HINGE 133
INSCRIPTION ON SOURTON CROSS 142
INSCRIBED STONE, STICKLEPATH 150
PLAN OF STONE ROWS NEAR CAISTOR ROCK 161
" " GRIMSPOUND 166
" " HUT AT GRIMSPOUND 169
FRAGMENT OF POTTERY 177
ORNAMENTED POTTERY 179
TOM PEARCE'S GHOSTLY MARE 191
CRAZING-MILL STONE, UPPER GOBBETTS 204
METHOD OF USING THE MILL-STONES 205
CHANCEL CAPITAL, MEAVY 237
BLOWING-HOUSE BELOW BLACK TOR 271
DARTMOOR
CHAPTER I.
BOGS
The rivers that flow from Dartmoor--The bogs are their cradles--A
tailor lost on the moor--A man in Aune Mire--Some of the worst
bogs--Cranmere Pool--How the bogs are formed--Adventure in
Redmoor Bog--Bog plants--The buckbean--Sweet gale--Furze--Yellow
broom--Bee-keeping.
Dartmoor proper consists of that upland region of granite, rising to
nearly 2,000 feet above the sea, and actually shooting above that
height at a few points, which is the nursery of many of the rivers of
Devon.
The Exe, indeed, has its source in Exmoor, and it disdains to receive
any affluents from Dartmoor; and the Torridge takes its rise hard by
the sea at Wellcombe, within a rifle-shot of the Bristol Channel,
nevertheless it makes a graceful sweep--tenders a salute--to Dartmoor,
and in return receives the liberal flow of the Okement. The Otter and
the Axe, being in the far east of the county, rise in the range of
hills that form the natural frontier between Devon and Somerset.
But all the other considerable streams look back upon Dartmoor as their
mother.
And what a mother! She sends them forth limpid and pure, full of
laughter and leap, of flash and brawl. She does not discharge them
laden with brown mud, as the Exe, nor turned like the waters of Egypt
to blood, as the Creedy.
A prudent mother, she feeds them regularly, and with considerable
deliberation. Her vast bogs act as sponges, absorbing the winter rains,
and only leisurely and prudently does she administer the hoarded
supply, so that the rivers never run dry in the hottest and most
rainless summers.
Of bogs there are two sorts, the great parental peat deposits that
cover the highland, where not too steep for them to lie, and the swamps
in the bottoms formed by the oozings from the hills that have been
arrested from instant discharge into the rivers by the growth of moss
and water-weeds, or are checked by belts of gravel and boulder. To see
the former, a visit should be made to Cranmere Pool, or to Cut Hill,
or Fox Tor Mire. To get into the latter a stroll of ten minutes up a
river-bank will suffice.
The existence of the great parent bogs is due either to the fact that
beneath them lies the impervious granite, as a floor, somewhat concave,
or to the whole rolling upland being covered, as with a quilt, with
equally impervious china-clay, the fine deposit of feldspar washed from
the granite in the course of ages.
In the depths of the moor the peat may be seen riven like floes of
ice, and the rifts are sometimes twelve to fourteen feet deep, cut
through black vegetable matter, the product of decay of plants through
countless generations. If the bottom be sufficiently denuded it is seen
to be white and smooth as a girl's shoulder--the kaolin that underlies
all.
On the hillsides, and in the bottoms, quaking-bogs may be lighted
upon or tumbled into. To light upon them is easy enough, to get out
of one if tumbled into is a difficult matter. They are happily small,
and can be at once recognised by the vivid green pillow of moss that
overlies them. This pillow is sufficiently close in texture and buoyant
to support a man's weight, but it has a mischievous habit of thinning
around the edge, and if the water be stepped into where this fringe
is, it is quite possible for the inexperienced to go under, and be
enabled at his leisure to investigate the lower surface of the covering
_duvet_ of porous moss. Whether he will be able to give to the world
the benefit of his observations may be open to question.
The thing to be done by anyone who gets into such a bog is to spread
his arms out--this will prevent his sinking--and if he cannot struggle
out, to wait, cooling his toes in bog water, till assistance comes. It
is a difficult matter to extricate horses when they flounder in, as
is not infrequently the case in hunting; every plunge sends the poor
beasts in deeper.
One afternoon, in the year 1851, I was in the Walkham valley above
Merrivale Bridge digging into what at the time I fondly believed was a
tumulus, but which I subsequently discovered to be a mound thrown up
for the accommodation of rabbits, when a warren was contemplated on the
slope of Mis Tor.
Towards evening I was startled to see a most extraordinary object
approach me--a man in a draggled, dingy, and disconsolate condition,
hardly able to crawl along. When he came up to me he burst into tears,
and it was some time before I could get his story from him. He was a
tailor of Plymouth, who had left his home to attend the funeral of a
cousin at Sampford Spiney or Walkhampton, I forget which. At that time
there was no railway between Tavistock and Launceston; communication
was by coach.
When the tailor, on the coach, reached Roborough Down, "'Ere you
are!" said the driver. "You go along there, and you can't miss it!"
indicating a direction with his whip.
So the tailor, in his glossy black suit, and with his box-hat set
jauntily on his head, descended from the coach, leaped into the
road, his umbrella, also black, under his arm, and with a composed
countenance started along the road that had been pointed out.
Where and how he missed his way he could not explain, nor can I guess,
but instead of finding himself at the house of mourning, and partaking
there of cake and gin, and dropping a sympathetic tear, he got up on to
Dartmoor, and got--with considerable dexterity--away from all roads.
He wandered on and on, becoming hungry, feeling the gloss go out of his
new black suit, and raws develop upon his top-hat as it got knocked
against rocks in some of his falls.
Night set in, and, as Homer says, "all the paths were darkened"--but
where the tailor found himself there were no paths to become obscured.
He lay in a bog for some time, unable to extricate himself. He lost
his umbrella, and finally lost his hat. His imagination conjured up
frightful objects; if he did not lose his courage, it was because, as a
tailor, he had none to lose.
He told me incredible tales of the large, glaring-eyed monsters that
had stared at him as he lay in the bog. They were probably sheep, but
as nine tailors fled when a snail put out its horns, no wonder that
this solitary member of the profession was scared at a sheep.
The poor wretch had eaten nothing since the morning of the preceding
day. Happily I had half a Cornish pasty with me, and I gave it him. He
fell on it ravenously.
Then I showed him the way to the little inn at Merrivale Bridge, and
advised him to hire a trap there and get back to Plymouth as quickly as
might be.
"I solemnly swear to you, sir," said he, "nothing will ever induce me
to set foot on Dartmoor again. If I chance to see it from the Hoe, sir,
I'll avert my eyes. How can people think to come here for pleasure--for
pleasure, sir! But there, Chinamen eat birds'-nests. There are depraved
appetites among human beings, and only unwholesome-minded individuals
can love Dartmoor."
There is a story told of one of the nastiest of mires on Dartmoor, that
of Aune Head. A mire, by the way, is a peculiarly watery bog, that lies
at the head of a river. It is its cradle, and a bog is distributed
indiscriminately anywhere.
A mire cannot always be traversed in safety; much depends on the
season. After a dry summer it is possible to tread where it would be
death in winter or after a dropping summer.
A man is said to have been making his way through Aune Mire when he
came on a top-hat reposing, brim downwards, on the sedge. He gave it a
kick, whereupon a voice called out from beneath, "What be you a-doin'
to my 'at?" The man replied, "Be there now a chap under'n?" "Ees, I
reckon," was the reply, "and a hoss under me likewise."
There is a track through Aune Head Mire that can be taken with safety
by one who knows it.
Fox Tor Mire once bore a very bad name. The only convict who really
got away from Princetown and was not recaptured was last seen taking a
bee-line for Fox Tor Mire. The grappling irons at the disposal of the
prison authorities were insufficient for the search of the whole marshy
tract. Since the mines were started at Whiteworks much has been done
to drain Fox Tor Mire, and to render it safe for grazing cattle on and
about it.
There is a nasty little mire at the head of Redaven Lake, between
West Mill Tor and Yes Tor, and there is a choice collection of them,
inviting the unwary to their chill embraces, on Cater's Beam, about the
sources of the Plym and Blacklane Brook, the ugliest of all occupying
a pan and having no visible outlet. The Redlake mires are also disposed
to be nasty in a wet season, and should be avoided at all times. Anyone
having a fancy to study the mires and explore them for bog plants will
find an elegant selection around Wild Tor, to be reached by ascending
Taw Marsh and mounting Steeperton Tor, behind which he will find what
he desires.
"On the high tableland," says Mr. William Collier, "above the
slopes, even higher than many tors, are the great bogs, the sources
of the rivers. The great northern bog is a vast tract of very
high land, nothing but bog and sedge, with ravines down which the
feeders of the rivers pour. Here may be found Cranmere Pool, which
is now no pool at all, but just a small piece of bare black bog.
Writers of Dartmoor guide-books have been pleased to make much of
this Cranmere Pool, greatly to the advantage of the living guides,
who take tourists there to stare at a small bit of black bog, and
leave their cards in a receptacle provided for them. The large bog
itself is of interest as the source of many rivers; but there is
absolutely no interest in Cranmere Pool, which is nothing but a
delusion and a snare for tourists. It was a small pool years ago,
where the rain water lodged; but at Okement Head hard by a fox was
run to ground, a terrier was put in, and by digging out the terrier
Cranmere Pool was tapped, and has never been a pool since. So much
for Cranmere Pool!
"This great northern bog, divided into two sections by Fur Tor and
Fur Tor Cut, extends southwards to within a short distance of Great
Mis Tor, and is a vast receptacle of rain, which it safely holds
throughout the driest summer. Fur Tor Cut is a passage between the
north and south parts of this great bog, evidently cut artificially
for a pass for cattle and men on horseback from Tay Head, or Tavy
Head, to East Dart Head, forming a pass from west to east over
the very wildest part of Dartmoor. Anyone can walk over the bogs;
there is no danger or difficulty to a man on foot unless he gets
exhausted, as some have done. But horses, bullocks, and sheep
cannot cross them. A man on horseback must take care where he goes,
and this Fur Tor Cut is for his accommodation."[1]
The Fur Tor Mire is not composed of black but of a horrible yellow
slime. There is no peat in it, and to cross it one must leap from one
tuft of coarse grass to another. The "mires" are formed in basins of
the granite, which were originally lakes or tarns, and into which
no streams fall bringing down detritus. They are slowly and surely
filling with vegetable matter, water-weeds that rot and sink, and
as this vegetable matter accumulates it contracts the area of the
water surface. In the rear of the long sedge grass or bogbean creeps
the heather, and a completely choked-up mire eventuates in a peat
bog. Granite has a tendency to form saucer-like depressions. In the
Bairischer Wald, the range dividing Bavaria from Bohemia, are a number
of picturesque tarns, that look as though they occupied the craters of
extinct volcanoes. This, however, is not the case; the rock is granite,
but in this case the lakes are so deep that they have not as yet been
filled with vegetable deposit. On the Cornish moors is Dosmare Pool.
This is a genuine instance of the lake in a granitic district. In
Redmoor, near Fox Tor, on the same moors, we have a similar saucer,
with a granitic lip, over which it discharges its superfluous water,
but it is already so much choked with vegetable growth as to have
become a mire. Ten thousand years hence it will be a great peat bog.
I had an adventure in Redmoor, and came nearer looking into the world
beyond than has happened to me before or since. Although it occurred
on the Cornish moors, it might have chanced on Dartmoor, in one of its
mires, for the character of both is the same, and I was engaged in the
same autumn on both sets of moors. Having been dissatisfied with the
Ordnance maps of the Devon and Cornish moors, and desiring that certain
omissions should be corrected, I appealed to Sir Charles Wilson, of the
Survey, and he very readily sent me one of his staff, Mr. Thomas, to
go over the ground with me, and fill in the particulars that deserved
to be added. This was in 1891. The summer had been one of excessive
rain, and the bogs were swollen to bursting. Mr. Thomas and I had been
engaged, on November 5th, about Trewartha Marsh, and as the day closed
in we started for the inhabited land and our lodgings at "Five Janes."
But in the rapidly closing day we went out of our course, and when
nearly dark found ourselves completely astray, and worst of all in a
bog. We were forced to separate, and make our way as best we could,
leaping from one patch of rushes or moss to another. All at once I
went in over my waist, and felt myself being sucked down as though an
octopus had hold of me. I cried out, but Thomas could neither see me
nor assist me had he been able to approach. Providentially I had a long
bamboo, like an alpenstock, in my hand, and I laid this horizontally on
the surface and struggled to raise myself by it. After some time, and
with desperate effort, I got myself over the bamboo, and was finally
able to crawl away like a lizard on my face. My watch was stopped in
my waistcoat pocket, one of my gaiters torn off by the suction of the
bog, and I found that for a moment I had been submerged even over one
shoulder, as it was wet, and the moss clung to it.
On another occasion I went with two of my children, on a day when
clouds were sweeping across the moor, over Langstone Moor. I was going
to the collection of hut circles opposite Greenaball, on the shoulder
of Mis Tor. Unhappily, we got into the bog at the head of Peter Tavy
Brook. This is by no means a dangerous morass, but after a rainy season
it is a nasty one to cross.
Simultaneously down on us came the fog, dense as cotton wool. For
quite half an hour we were entangled in this absurdly insignificant
bog. In getting about in a mire, the only thing to be done is to leap
from one spot to another where there seems to be sufficient growth of
water-plants and moss to stay one up. In doing this one loses all idea
of direction, and we were, I have no doubt, forming figures of eight
in our endeavours to extricate ourselves. I knew that the morass was
inconsiderable in extent, and that by taking a straight line it would
be easy to get out of it, but in a fog it was not possible to take a
bee-line. Happily, for a moment the curtain of mist lifted, and I saw
on the horizon, standing up boldly, the stones of the great circle that
is planted on the crest. I at once shouted to the children to follow
me, and in two minutes we were on solid land.
The Dartmoor bogs may be explored for rare plants and mosses. The
buckbean will be found and recognised by its three succulent sea-green
leaflets, and by its delicately beautiful white flower tinged with
pink, in June and July. I found it in 1861 in abundance in Iceland,
where it is called _Alptar colavr_, the swan's clapper. About Hamburg
it is known as the "flower of liberty," and grows only within the
domains of the old Hanseatic Republic. In Iceland it serves a double
purpose. Its thickly interwoven roots are cut and employed in square
pieces like turf or felt as a protection for the backs of horses that
are laden with packs. Moreover, in crossing a bog, the clever native
ponies always know that they can tread safely where they see the white
flower stand aloft.
The golden asphodel is common, and remarkably lovely, with its shades
of yellow from the deep-tinted buds to the paler expanded flower. The
sundew is everywhere that water lodges; the sweet gale has foliage of
a pale yellowish green sprinkled over with dots, which are resinous
glands. The berries also are sprinkled with the same glands. The
plant has a powerful, but fresh and pleasant, odour, which insects
dislike. Country people were wont to use sprigs of it, like lavender,
to put with their linen, and to hang boughs above their beds. The
catkins yield a quantity of wax. The sweet gale was formerly much
more abundant, and was largely employed; it went by the name of the
Devonshire myrtle. When boiled, the wax rises to the surface of the
water. Tapers were made of it, and were so fragrant while burning, that
they were employed in sick-rooms. In Prussia, at one time, they were
constantly furnished for the royal household.
The marsh helleborine, _Epipactis palustris_, may be gathered, and the
pyramidal orchis, and butterfly and frog orchises, occasionally.
The furze--only out of bloom when Love is out of tune--keeps away from
the standing water. It is the furze which is the glory of the moor,
with its dazzling gold and its honey breath, fighting for existence
against the farmer who fires it every year, and envelops Dartmoor in
a cloud of smoke from March to June. Why should he do this instead of
employing the young shoots as fodder?
I think that as Scotland has the thistle, Ireland the shamrock, and
Wales the leek as their emblems, we Western men of Devon and Cornwall
should adopt the furze. If we want a day, there is that of our apostle
S. Petrock, on June 4th.
By the streams and rivers and on hedge-banks the yellow broom blazes,
yet it cannot rival in intensity of colour and in variety of tint the
magnificent furze or gorse. But the latter is not a pleasant plant to
walk amidst, owing to its prickles, and especial care must be observed
lest it affix one of these in the knee. The spike rapidly works inwards
and produces intense pain and lameness. The moment it is felt to be
there, the thing to be done is immediately to extract it with a knife.
From the blossoms of the furze the bees derive their aromatic honey,
which makes that of Dartmoor supreme. Yet beekeeping is a difficulty
there, owing to the gales, that sweep the busy insects away, so that
they fail to find their direction home. Only in sheltered combes can
they be kept.
The much-relished Swiss honey is a manufactured product of glycerine
and pear-juice; but Dartmoor honey is the sublimated essence of
ambrosial sweetness in taste and savour, drawn from no other source
than the chalices of the golden furze, and compounded with no
adventitious matter.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] "Dartmoor," in the _Transactions of the Plymouth Institution_,
1897-8.