Proverb about sharing - Somerset

"Come every one heave a pound. - Somerset"

Ray 1768

[My wife says that still in Dorset amongst farmers sharing equipment a 'heave' is voluntary contribution to a shared project. "We all heave a third".]

A Torrington case of Entrapment, Bishops and the Long Road...

Bishop of Exeter Frederick Temple by James Joseph Jacques Tissot [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

"Dr. recently held a visitation at Torrington, North Devon, and while his carriage was being harnessed for the return journey to Barnstaple, intimated that he would walk on. The bishop took the old hilly road, which is now but little used, and the coachman, unaware of this fact, drove off, via Bickford [Bideford?], quite in another direction. For five miles his lordship trudged on, and becoming fatigued, and seeing no sign of carriage, on arriving at Newton Tracey he asked a respectable publican and farmer there to give him a lift. Boniface had a cart, but the cart was unlicensed, and he pleaded this objection against complying with Dr. 's wish. But the bishop was equal to the emergency ; he was desirous to proceed, and would pay the cost of a license. This anxiety aroused the publican's suspicions, who rejoined that if his visitor " would zit down and take a drap ov zummut 'e wid go tii Barum and get a lishens." But for this preliminary the bishop could not wait and urged his host to harness his cart at once, and take out a license on reaching Barnstaple.
 

More convinced than ever of the character and occupation of the pedestrian, Boniface broke out, emphasizing his denunciations with strong expletives. 

"I knaw thee. Thee art wan ov they supervisor fellers that be alwes agwaine about the country, a-trying tii trap poar men awver their lishenses and their carts." 

The astonished prelate mildly endeavoured to assuage the wrath of the irate publican, by the statement that he was the Bishop of Exeter. 

"Tez a d lie and nothing of the zort," retorted the other, "yii want tii trick me, zames yii did my neighbour tother day. Why, Bill Smith was armed five pound and yii wan'th tii git me intii the zame box, but I'm burned if yii dii." 

So the bishop had again to sally forth, until he was picked up about four miles from his destination by the carriage, which had meanwhile been sent out in quest of him from Barnstaple. The publican chuckled over his own cuteness in doing the supervisor, and to a friend who called a few days later, he narrated the incident with great glee.

"I knawed," said he, "who the chap was ! He was a-dressed up like a zort of genelman varmer with a pair of black gaiters and breeches, and a rummy zort of a hat 'pon his head ; but he didden git awver me, I cude zee by the twinkle of his eye he was wan of they excise chaps and he wanted to zar me zames he did Bill Smith. He, poor blid, was fined five pound tuther day for just a-taking his missus who'd been bad for just a little bit of a turn round a bit." Shortly after, Boniface learnt the true state of the case, when he said, "Bless my sawl, what a fiile I've abin, mayhap if I'd diied what his lordship axed me, he mid a-made me Dean of the Katheydral !"

Slightly altered from report in the Tiverton Gazette" [1872]

Hewett 1900


Map - Barnstaple
Map - Exeter
Map - Newton Tracey
Map - Torrington

Devon / Westcountry weather lore #12 April (part 1)

Mattiscombe Beach, Devon, in April - By Own Herby talk thyme (Own work) [GFDL (www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0-2.5-2.0-1.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

"A dry April is not the farmer's will.

In April wet is what the farmer would get.

Till April is dead, change not a thread.

What March does not want April brings along.

When April blows his horn,
"Tis good for hay and corn.

On the first of April crows are still sitting.

April floods carry off frogs and their broods.

The cuckoo comes in April.

When the cuckoo comes to the bare thorn, 

Sell your cow and buy you corn ; 

But when he comes to the full bit, 

Sell your corn and buy you sheep.

If it thunders on All Fools' Day, 

There will be good crops of corn and hay...." [cont...]

Hewett 1900

Luck money / Earnest money exchainged when selling animals or taking on a servant in Devon

Bampton Fair 2005, where some horses are still sold - By Martin Bodman [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

"IN old fashioned markets it is customary to give luck money on an animal being sold by the farmer himself.

The practice is gradually dying out, as auctions are taking the place of private contracts. In some places a penny merely passes from the seller to the buyer, a practice arising, probably, from some superstitious belief. In some districts a shilling or half-a-crown is given as luck-money. In others again, a man will deal and give a certain sum for a cow or a horse with the proviso that five or ten shillings shall be returned for luck or chap money. The origin of this custom is unknown. Sometimes, when engaging a servant, a shilling is given to clench the bargain. This is called earnest money."

Hewett 1900

Crying the Neck in Paignton

Paignton Windmill - I am gussing this was for local corn, but it may have had another purpose - Crispin Purdye [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

"There are many variants of the cry, but the above seems to be the one in general use. At Paignton, the farmer's name is introduced, thus :

A-neck ! a-neck ! a-neck !

Whose neck ?

Varmer Ferris'es ! Varmer Ferris'es

Its all a-cut !

And all abound !

And all ataken from the ground,

Hip ! hip ! whorrah ! whorrah !"

Hewett 1900

Map - Paignton

Unlucky in Devon - 54

Primroses - Glyn Baker [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

 It is unlucky -

"To bring into a poultry-farmer's house a small bunch of primroses when these flowers first come into bloom in the early spring. The number of chicken reared that season, are supposed to agree with the number of primroses brought in. (I once saw a little girl severely punished for this offence in South Devon.)"

Hewett 1900

Devon Dreams L- N

"The following few examples shew " the stuff which dreams are made of."

Larks. 
To dream of these birds is a good sign, as it denotes that you will overcome all difficulties that may come in your way, and you will speedily rise to a good position.

Lightning 
without thunder is one of the very luckiest dreams. To lovers it means happiness; to farmers, good crops ; and to sailors, prosperous voyages.

Mad Dogs. 
In dreams these are omens of success.

Magpies. 
That you will soon be married.

Nightingales. 
Nightingales singing are indicative of bright days coming and a release from all troubles and anxieties.

Nuts. 
Indicate the receipt of money.

Hewett 1900

Hewett's Haloween - Part 1 - Introduction

A Settle - By Pearson Scott Foresman [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

"I THINK I cannot do better than describe what actually took place at an old farm house, in the [eighteen-] eighties, in South Devon.

I was invited to spend a few days with a family, consisting of a farmer, his wife, and seven grown-up sons and daughters. The farm was picturesquely situated on a south-western slope of the Haldon Hills, from whence extensive views of land and sea could be enjoyed.

Mary was the youngest and merriest of the family. She it was who acted as prime mover in all the fun, not that either of the others showed any reluctance to carry out her wildest suggestions. A brighter set of young folk it would be difficult to find, and it has seldom been my good fortune to meet their equals in high spirits and natural gentleness. Every one was thoroughly imbued with credulity in regard to omens and predictions."

Hewett (1900)

Map - Haldon Hills

Devonshire Wassail on Christmas Eve

Apple Tree in Winter - Some rights reserved by Enric Martinez

 

"Another custom in Devonshire, still practised, we believe, in one or two localities on Christmas Eve, is for the farmer with his family and friends, after partaking together of hot cakes and cider (the cake being dipped in the liquor previous to being eaten), to proceed to the orchard, one of the party bearing hot cake and cider as an offering to the principal apple-tree. The cake is formally deposited on the fork of the tree, and the cider thrown over the latter, the men firing off guns and pistols, and the women and girls shouting—

' Bear blue, apples and pears enow,
Barn fulls, bag fulls, sack fulls.
Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah !'"

Chambers 1888a

Bristol Christmas Brand

Fire - if you wish to use my pictures, please attribute this blog

 "The following is from "Christmas, a Poem, by Romaine Joseph Thorn," 8vo. Bristol, 1795, 1. 129 :

"
Thy welcome Eve, lov'd Christmas, now arriv'd,
The parish bells their tunefull peals resound,
And mirth and gladness every breast pervade.
The pondrous Ashen-faggot, from the yard,
The jolly farmer to his crowded hall
Conveys, with speed ; where, on the rising flame
(Already fed with store of massy brands)
It blazes soon ; nine bandages it bears,
And, as they each disjoin (so Custom wills),
A mighty jug of sparkling cyder's brought,
With brandy mixt, to elevate the guests."

Again:

"High on the cheerful fire
Is blazing seen th' enormous Christmas brand.""

Brand 1813

Map - Bristol

[Thorn appears to be a Bristol based poet, so was presumably reffering to a Bristol custom, although at this time he may also be using it as a romantic story he heard from else where - not a very secure story]

Christmas Eve Ashen Faggots on the Dowland

Ash trees on the Dowlands - Tony Atkin [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

"However, about midnight of December 24th, the labourers of Mr. Chappel, the farmer who occupied Dowlands (about a quarter of a mile inland from the brow of the cliff [White Cliff, near Lyme], and over half a mile from the nearest points of the approaching convulsion) were returning from a supper given them by their employer, whereat the ashen faggot had been burnt according to custom, and were making their way to their cottages, situated near the cliff."

Baring-Gould 1900

Map - Dowlands
Map - White Cliff area

[I have decided to pause in strait transcription of books to do a selected bundle of Christmas themed posts on the Ashen Faggot - I hope you enjoy...]

The Theiving Gentry of Woody Bay Part 1

Blunderbuss by Sopoforic

"There is a legend about Woody Bay, that is almost too strange for fiction and which has, we believe, already taken its place in a very clever collection of Cornish stories and legends by Mr. Hunt. It may belong to both counties.

There was a certain squire living near Woody Bay, who was a great gambler, and was therefore often in want of money. On one occasion when fortune had deserted him, and he was nearly penniless, he had recourse to burglary for a supply. It was the day before rent day, and he knew that the tenant of one of his largest farms would have the money in his house ready for the payment of his rent. He determined to break into his house and take the money. He would not be seen or recognised, and the farmer would still be obliged to pay his rent. With this villainous project in his head, he dressed himself in rough shooting clothes, took a pair of pistols, and set out for the farm. Here he tried to break open a window, but made so much noise that the farmer heard him, and shot him with a blunderbuss just as he was half-way into the house.

After this the ghost of the squire haunted the farm. Things went very badly with the farmer, his crops failed, his stock died, and it was all laid to the charge of the squire's ghost; so, in his despair the poor man applied to the parson of Trentishoe to lay the spirit. The parson came, but all his exorcisms were of no avail: the ghost still "revisited the glimpses of the moon," and ill fortune still befell the farmer. He applied for advice to a "wise man" living at Exeter..." [cont.]

Valentine (undated)

Monmouth's rebels - part 2

Duke of Monmouth being beheaded after the rebellion.

 "...The clergyman of Brendon, a Mr. Powell, with a cruelty disgraceful to his profession-or it may be acting under royal orders-collected a party of Plymouth fishermen and scoured the woods in search of the hidden rebels, several of whom were found and shot. Major Wade was taken, brought to a farm called Farley, and shot in the farm-yard, by a sailor. The supposed dead body was left in the yard; the farmer had it carried into the house, and found that life was not extinct. Wade's wound was dressed, he was kindly tended, recovered, and escaped to Bristol. When a general pardon was proclaimed, he came forth from his concealment and rewarded with a small annuity the poor woman who had saved his life."

Valentine (undated)

Map - Watersmeet

Map -Brendon

Map - Sedgemoor

Map - Plymouth

Map - Bristol

The Doones of Exmoor - Part 2

 

"...They consequently grew bolder and more savage year by year, till they robbed a farmhouse at Exford, and finding only a little child in it, they tossed her up and caught her on their swords, killing her for mere sport. A maid-servant, who, in fear of her life, had abandoned her charge and hidden herself in an oven, heard them say to the child,-

"If they ask who murdered thee,
Say 'twas the Doones of Badgeree."

This monstrous crime roused the farmers; they gathered together every man they could get, and proceeded in a body against the Doones' Glen.

After a severe fight they succeeded in destroying and taking prisoners the whole band; those that survived were tried and executed, and thus Exmoor was cleared from its bandits for ever."

Valentine (undated)

Map - Doone Glen

Map - Exford

Pelynt - Saint Nun's Well - part 2

"...Though the superstitious hinds had spared the well, time and storms of winter had been slowly ruining it. The oak which grew upon its roof had, by its roots, dislodged several stones of the arch, and, swaying about in the wind, had shaken down a large mass of masonry in the interior, and the greater part of the front. On its ruinous condition being made known to the Trelawny family (on whose property it is situated), they ordered the restoration, and the walls were replaced after the original plan. 

This well and a small chapel (the site of which is no longer to be traced, though still pointed out by the older tenantry) were dedicated, it is supposed, to St. Ninnie, or St. Nun, a female saint, who, according to William of Worcester, was the mother of St. David. The people of the neighbourhood knew the well by the names St. Ninnie's, St. Nun's, and Piskies' Well. It is probable that the latter is, after all, the older name, and that the guardianship of the spring was usurped at a later period by the saint whose name it occasionally bears. The water was doubtless used for sacramental purposes; yet its mystic properties, if they were ever supposed to be dispensed by the saint, have been again transferred, in the popular belief, to the Piskies.

A piskie and a pin at Penlynt - please attribute this website if you wish to use my drawing

In the basin of the well may be found a great number of pins, thrown in by those who have visited it out of curiosity, or to avail themselves of the virtues of its waters. A writer, anxious to know what meaning the peasantry attach to this strange custom, on asking a man at work near the spot, was told that it was done "to get the goodwill of the Piskies," who after the tribute of a pin not only ceased to mislead them, but rendered fortunate the operations of husbandry."

Hope 1893

 Map - Saint Nonna's Well, Penlynt

[There appear to be no copyleft images of the well now on the internet. If anyone has a photo I would love to be able to use it.]

Pelynt - Saint Nun's Well - part 1

"On the western side of the beautiful valley through which flows the Trelawny River, and near Hobb's Park, in the parish of Pelynt, Cornwall, is St. Nunn's or St. Ninnie's Well. Its position was, until very lately, to be discovered by the oak and bramble which grew upon its roof. It is entered by a doorway with a stone lintel, and overshadowed by an oak. The front of the well is of a pointed form, and has a rude entrance about 4 feet high, and is spanned above by a single flat stone, which leads into a grotto, with an arched roof. The walls on the interior are draped with the luxuriant fronds of spleen-wort, hart's tongue, and a rich undercovering of liverwort. At the farther end of the floor is a round granite basin with a deeply moulded rim, and ornamented with a series of rings, each enclosing a cross or a ball. The water weeps into it from an opening at the back, and escapes again by a hole in the bottom. This interesting piece of antiquity has been protected by a tradition which we could almost wish to attach to some of our cromlechs and circles in danger of spoliation. 

An old farmer (so runs the legend) once set his eyes upon the granite basin and coveted it, for it was no wrong in his eyes to convert the holy font to the base uses of a Pigsty and accordingly he drove his oxen and wain to the gateway above for the purpose of removing it. Taking his beasts to the entrance of the well, he essayed to drag the trough from its ancient bed. For a long time it resisted the efforts of the oxen, but at length they succeeded in starting it, and dragged it slowly up the hillside to where the wain was standing. Here, however, it burst away from the chains which held it, and, rolling back again to the well, made a sharp turn and regained its old positions, where it has remained ever since. Nor will anyone again attempt its removal, seeing that the farmer, who was previously well-to-do in the world, never prospered from that day forward. Some people say, indeed, that retribution overtook him on the spot, the oxen falling dead, and the owner being struck lame and speechless..." [cont.]

Hope 1893

Widdecombe Fair

Display in the window of the Old Pottery in Widecombe in the Moor

"The Story of "Widecombe Fair" is one of the quaintest of the Songs of the West, collected by the Rev. S. Baring-Gould, and the best known of them all among the Devon folk; indeed, it has bee termed the Devonshire National Anthem. It tells the tale of how Jan Pearce's grey Mare was borrowed by a friend,

For I wants to go to Widecombe Fair,
With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy,
Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,
Old Uncle Tom Cobleigh, and all.

But as neither the mare nor the party returned, Jan went to look after them, and -

When'e got to the top o' the hill,
'E see'd his old mare a-making of her will.

For the poor old mare "her took sick, and her died," and when you get to the top of the hill you won't wonder!  For steep and bad and stony is the way to Widecombe, long down, and oh, so long up again! But you want to stand in Dartmoor, so we will descend the hill...

...Widecombe Fair still takes place, a sheep fair held on the second Tuesday in September, and then Widecombe is a very stiring place indeed; and "you may see some proper ship (sheep) there," as an old farmer once said to me. They are mostly ruddled, that is marked with a red colouring; and, in pens, they fill up the green all round the church, where they stand and bleat until they are sold and driven off over the moor.  In the inn there is a grand lunch of cold meats to be had, and you may hear the finest Devonshire imaginable talked all round you; and if you belong to the county your tounge slips into the dialect quite naturally. You will most certainly meet "Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawk,Old Uncle Tom Cobleigh, and all", ay, and recognize them too, with the grey mare herself."

Cresswell 1921

In the church at Widecombe in the Moor - a display about the song.

Map - Widecombe- in-the-Moor

The Mermaids Vengence - part 2

"...Penna was too great a favourite with the Squire to be a favourite of the hind's; he was evidently jealous of him, and from not being himself a man of very strict principles, he hated the unobtrusive goodness of his underling, and was constantly on the watch to discover some cause of complaint. It was not, however, often that he was successful in this. Every task committed to the care of Penna,--and he was often purposely overtasked, -- was executed with great care and despatch. With the wife of Penna, however, the case was unfortunately different. Honour Penna was as industrious as her husband, and to him she was in all respects a helpmate. She had, however, naturally a proud spirit, and this had been encouraged in her youth by her parents. 

Honour was very pretty as a girl, and, indeed, she retained much beauty as a woman. The only education she received was the wild one of experience, and this within a very narrow circle. She grew an ignorant girl, amongst ignorant men and women, few of them being able to write their names, and scarcely any of them to read. There was much native grace about her, and she was flattered by the young men, and envied by the young women, of the village,--the envy and the flattery being equally pleasant to her. 

In the same village was born, and brought up, Tom Chenalls, who had, in the course of years, become hind to the Squire. Tom, as a young man, had often expressed himself fond of Honour, but he was always distasteful to the village maiden, and eventually, while yet young, she was married to Pennaluna, who came from the southern coast, bringing with him the recommendation of being a stranger, and an exceedingly hard-working man, who was certain to earn bread, and something more, for his wife and family. In the relations in which these people were now placed towards each other, Chenalls had the opportunity of acting ungenerously towards the Pennas. The man bore this uncomplainingly, but the woman frequently quarrelled with him whom she felt was an enemy, and whom she still regarded but as her equal. Chenalls was a skilled farmer, and hence was of considerable value to the Squire; but although he was endured for his farming knowledge and his business habits, he was never a favourite with his employer. Penna, on the contrary, was an especial favourite, and the evidences of this were so often brought strikingly under the observation of Chenalls, that it increased the irritation of his hate, for it amounted to that. For years things went on thus. There was the tranquil suffering of an oppressed spirit manifested in Penna--the angry words and actions of his wife towards the oppressor, .-- and, at the same time, as she with much fondness studied to make their humble home comfortable for her husband, she reviled him not unfrequently for the meek spirit with which he endured his petty, but still trying, wrongs. The hind dared not venture on any positive act of wrong towards those people, yet he lost no chance of annoying them, knowing that the Squire's partiality for Penna would not allow him to venture beyond certain bounds, even in this direction...." [cont.]

Hunt 1903

The Mermaids Vengence - part 1

"IN one of the deep valleys of the parish of Perranzabuloe, which are remarkable for their fertility, and especially for the abundance of fruit which the orchards produce, lived in days long ago, amidst a rudely-civilised people, a farmer's labourer, his wife, with one child, a daughter. The man and woman were equally industrious. The neatly white-washed walls of their mud-built cottage, the well-kept gravelled paths, and carefully-weeded beds of their small garden, in which flowers were cultivated for ornament, and vegetables for use, proclaimed at once the character of the inmates. In contrast with the neighbouring cottages, this one, although smaller than many others, had a superior aspect, and the occupiers of it exhibited a strong contrast to those peasants and miners amidst whom they dwelt.

Pennaluna, as the man was called, or Penna the Proud, as he was, in no very friendly spirit, named by his less thoughtful and more impulsive fellows, was, as we have said, a farmer's labourer.

His master was a wealthy yeoman, and he, after many years' experience, was so convinced of the exceeding industry and sterling honesty of Penna, that he made him the manager of an outlying farm in this parish, under the hind (or hine--the Saxon pronunciation is still retained in the West of England), or general supervisor of this and numerous other extensive farms...." [cont.]

Hunt 1903

Saint Nectan

Foxglove - Pam Brophy [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

[The Christian Nectan was the eldest of a royal house in Wales in the sixth century, or so the legend goes. It was said that he felt the calling of the ascetic life of a hermit, and so set his coracle onto the sea and aloud the Lord to take him where he would. The wind and waves pushed him hither and thither, before finally setting him down safely on the rugged north Devon shoreline, near Hartland (a minor miracle in its self, given the fierceness of that storm blighted peninsular). It was here that he built is Hermits hut by the well that bares his name. Seeing his absolute poverty a kindly local farmer by the name of Huddon gifted Nectan two cows, ostensibly in return for helping him locate some lost pigs.

One day Nectan found his cows gone, and by following their hoof marks soon overtook the thieves who where in the process of stealing them. Seeing nothing more than a week skinny hermit the thugs knocked him down and killed the Saint. It is said that where ever the Saints blood flowed foxgloves grew. Nectan became so venerated that 500 or so years later a total of 39 churches where erected and dedicated to the Welsh Saint (34 in Cornwall and 5 in Devon)

- Thanks to Ann from Ideford for forwarding me this story, probably written by a former vicar of Ashcombe (though here retold in my own words). She added that next Sunday (the 13th of June) the people of Ashcombe Church will be celebrating Saint Nectan, it being the nearest Sunday to his day (he is the saint to whom their church is dedicated). They will also sing a hymn about the Saint, written by the same Vicar who put the above story to paper.

I have a few years ago also been told this story by a north Devon resident, who adds to the story, saying that not only was the saints head cut off, but he then picked it up and carried it under his arm back to his well, dripping blood and conjuring foxgloves for 2 or 3 miles. She had part of an old green lane running across the back of her overgrown orchard (we estimated from the age of the age and uncared for nature of trees and the spread of bluebells from the bank it had been abandoned for around 40 years - having been told bluebells spread one meter every ten years!). The lane, though hard to use, did indeed contain masses of foxgloves, despite the overgrown hedges.]

Map - Hartland
Map - Ashcombe