Berkshire Folk Tales E-Book

David England

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

This collection, inspired by the folklore of the Royal County, contains a plethora of tales robustly retold for a contemporary audience. The exploits of well-known figures such as Herne the Hunter and Dick Turpin feature alongside many of the county's lesser-known legends. From a cruel ordeal by fire and historical trials by combat, to the lore of dragons and witches, Berkshire Folk Tales is a heady mix of bloodythirsty, funny, passionate and moving stories. But this is not only a book of folk tales. It is also a gazetteer to guide you, allowing you to make the same journey as the antiquaries and discover this land and its stories for yourself.

Leseprobe

We dedicate this book to all those generations of Berkshire local historians and librarians who have collected and preserved these stories.

CONTENTS

Title Page

Dedication

Foreword

Preface

1 Reading

The Pleasant History of Thomas of Reading

2 Sonning

Berkshire Highwaymen

3 Wargrave

Queen Emma’s Ordeal by Fire

4 Maidenhead

The Vicar of Bray and the Windsor Martyrs

Dining with the Vicar of Bray

5 Hawthorn Hill

The Treasure of Hawthorn Hill

6 Windsor

The Witches of Windsor

7 Windsor Great Park

Herne the Hunter and the Wild Hunt

8 Bracknell

King James and the Tinker

9 Brimpton

Folk Tales about Berkshire Witches

10 Newbury

Playing Soldiers with the King

11 Speen

Legends of Edward the Confessor

12 Donnington Castle

The Duke of Chandos Buys a Wife

13 Boxford

The Wizard of Boxford

14 Kintbury

The Kintbury Bell

15 Hungerford

Captain Swing Riots – ‘Bread or Blood’

16 Lambourn

The Cheviot Shepherd’s Charm

17 Wantage

The Raven of Earthly Terror (1) –

Battle of Assedone

18 Dragon Hill

King Gaarge and the Dragon

19 Uffington

White Horse Revels

20 Wayland’s Smithy

Wayland the Smith

21 Faringdon

The Raven of Earthly Terror (2) –

Battle of Ethandun

22 East Hagbourne

Bob Appleford’s Pig

23 Blewbury

The Miser of Blewbury

24 Aldworth

The Aldworth Giants and

the Fate of John Ever-Afraid

25 Pangbourne

Trial by Combat (1) –

Reminiscence of a Villainous Life

26 Sulham Woods

Fight Me or Wed Me

27 Return to Reading

Trial by Combat (2) –

The Reckoning and the Redemption

Glossary

Bibliography

Endnotes

Copyright

FOREWORD

Within these pages are the voices of folk and the firesides of centuries; the dust of ages gathered from castle, keep and cottage, transported by eye, ear and mind, polished with age and retelling, cut to shape and breathed on by succeeding generations.

This collection of traditional stories from the Royal County of Berkshire is set to indulge, intrigue and dazzle the imagination. Time on these pages stands still and centuries stand in suspension; yesterday and today merge as you, the reader, take up the telling.

Del Reid, 2013

The Society for Storytelling

Coordinator for National Storytelling Week

PREFACE

It is the summer of 1899. A group of antiquaries set out from Reading on a tour of Berkshire in a wagonette. At each town or village on their itinerary, they, or the locals they meet on their journey, tell their favourite Berkshire folk tales. The route the antiquaries take is described in the text, so that you too can make the journey and tell the tales.

In 1909 Miss L. Salmon wrote about ‘Untravelled Berkshire’ in her delightful book of the same name. Indeed, much of the old county remains untravelled, with its varied landscapes, picturesque villages and historic inns; its churches and churchyards superimposed on ancient sacred sites, all accessible via quiet, winding lanes. Our book is a gazetteer to help you discover this land and its stories.

The antiquaries have differing voices, and this is reflected in their tales. As an illustration of this, compare the three stories based in the Vale of White Horse: White Horse Revels, King Gaarge and the Dragon, and Wayland the Smith.

Researching the sources of Berkshire folk tales has been an essential element in writing this book, as is shown by our extensive bibliography. Sometimes, a folk tale consists of unconnected fragments. Then, as storytellers, we have the intuitive task of making connections and weaving a convincing tale, with characterisation and drama. At other times, we are faced with an unwieldy, incoherent mass of source data. Then, as storytellers, we have the task of picking out the essential elements and presenting them as a coherent story. Thus, we have sought to write entertaining tales whilst remaining faithful to our sources. In so doing, where we felt it was necessary, we have recorded the bare bones of a story, as we received it, below our tale.

We hope you enjoy travelling with the antiquaries on your Berkshire folk tales journey.

David England and Tina Bilbé, 2013

ONE

READING

MY RECORD OF A TRIP THROUGH BERKSHIRE IN THE SUMMER OF 1899 – BY LOUISE FIELDGATE

It was the beginning of 1899; the last year of the nineteenth century and fast approaching a new millennium. My brother, David, had taken up an interest in folklore and was voicing concerns that the old tales would soon be lost as more and more people learned to read and moved into the towns. Thus was born the idea for a trip during the summer vacation, with a group of antiquarian acquaintances who my brother had been in correspondence with over the last year or so. We would research what tales had already been collected, enquire about possible contacts to meet on our journey, and travel the length and breadth of the county retelling the tales we had collected. We would meet our contacts to hear more along the way, and explore the landscape from which the stories had arisen. ‘A motley crew in a ship of fools’, our uncle called us, but what did we care for that.

It was agreed that we should gather in Reading, where the Great Western and the South Eastern railways meet. Rooms were booked at the Great Western Hotel, opposite the station, and on the appointed day our happy band assembled: Professor James Gaunt, Revd John Plumb, Cecil Vanderpump, Mrs Arabella Trump, William Beauchamp Esq., Dr Harold Benjamin, Joseph Cleave, Henry Rowland, David and me.

Berkshire’s ancient county town is situated a short distance from the south bank of the Thames, and a little upstream of its junction with the Kennet. It is linked to the Severn via the Kennet & Avon Canal and is 39 miles from London along the Great West Road. Reading is the commercial centre of a thriving agricultural district; it has extensive breweries, iron foundries, and agricultural implement and engineering works. Boats are built by the riverside and there are brick, tile and pottery works nearby. The two industries, however, for which the town is famous throughout the world, are the great biscuit works of Messrs Huntley & Palmers, and the seed establishment of Messrs Sutton & Sons.

The town has a long history and was first recorded in 868. But it was the founding of Reading Abbey that increased the importance of the town immeasurably. In medieval times, Reading was famous for producing fine woollen cloth. One notable worthy of the town was ‘Old King Cole’, whose wagons of cloth held up the King for so long that his anger turned to the realisation of how useful an ally the wealthy Thomas Cole would be. The result of their meeting, so the story goes, was the creation of a standard measure for cloth throughout England. But a gruesome fate awaited Thomas, as our good friend and colleague Dr Benjamin related:

THE PLEASANT HISTORY OF THOMAS OF READING

Hundreds of years ago, the Hospice of Colebrook provided refuge and hospitality to passing pilgrims visiting Windsor. Locals called it the ’Ospice, the name corrupting over the centuries to become the Osbridge Inn. Thanks to English explorers, word of Africa’s curious and exotic creatures inspired another change of name: it became the Ostrich Inn.

The landlord’s name was Jarman, and he and his wife ran a thriving tavern. Wealthy merchants would stop over at the Ostrich for a comfortable night’s lodging, good ale and a feast of scrumptious penny pork pasties. One such merchant was Thomas Cole, a rich and successful clothier from Reading. As he rode down from London, his mouth watered at the prospect of those penny pasties, richly filled with roasted pork and spices, and oozing with thick pork gravy.

On arrival at the Ostrich, Thomas quickly stabled his horse, handed over his purse (fat from his London trade) to Jarman’s wife for safe keeping, and put in his order for penny pork pasties.

‘Oi put ’e in moi bes’ room, zur, above moi warm kitchen,’ said Jarman’s wife. ‘Youm be warm as pork crackling.’

Later, sated on good ale and pork pasties, Thomas retired to the Jarmans’ best room.

Unbeknown to the patrons of the Ostrich, there was a dark side to the Jarmans’ business. It had been the wife’s idea to make the floor of the best room pivot on an iron beam, with the floor held in place by two stout iron pins, and it was Jarman who had crafted it. The bed was bolted to the pivoted floor, positioned over a mighty cauldron used to seethe the liquor for brewing.

The moonless night was deepest dark. Nearby, a screech owl uttered a piteous cry. A raven, blacker than the night, croaked by the bedroom window. Thomas Cole was oblivious to these dire warnings and snored on. The Jarmans listened at the door until Thomas’ snoring fell into a steady rhythm. Then they tiptoed down to the kitchen. Jarman quietly slipped out the two iron pins. Slowly, oh so slowly, the finely balanced best-bedroom floor, with the bed upon it, tipped the still sleeping Thomas of Reading – like a burial at sea into the foaming deep – into the hot foaming oil in the cauldron beneath.

Jarman and his wife swiftly hauled Thomas out of the cauldron with grappling hooks, a look of faint surprise still lingering upon his deep-fried features. He was quickly quartered, placed in roasting pans, and popped into the large pre-heated oven.

By the time Thomas was done to a turn, Jarman and his wife had mixed and rolled out the pastry and laid out the butcher’s choppers and knives. This was the part they loved the best, chopping up the roast meat and slicing it into chunks to make their delicious penny pork pasties, which were so good that even the Ostrich Inn’s own cellarmen and serving wenches relished them. The Jarmans split open Thomas’ bones and made rich marrow gravy to moisten the meat. Finally, they sealed the pasties with a little milk, cut two holes in the pastry tops to let the steam release, and put the pasties in the oven to cook.

When all was done, and the pasties were left to cool for the day’s trade, the Jarmans retired to their beds, content in the knowledge that they were made richer by the contents of Thomas’ purse and the value of his horse and flesh.

Jarman was roused from his contented slumber by a furious beating on the inn door. Glancing out of the window, he saw two men with Thomas’ horse in the yard. Thinking his wicked deeds had been discovered, Jarman made off into Windsor Forest, leaving his wife to be apprehended by the constable. Jarman didn’t get far. A search party was swiftly formed, their hunting dogs quickly picked up his scent, and Jarman was caught hiding in a tree.

At Thomas’ home in Reading, his wife had become anxious, as she had expected him home that night. She feared he had been set upon by the notorious highwayman, Dick Turpin, who preyed on travellers in Maidenhead Thicket. So, she had sent a servant by horse to find him and bring him home. The servant had ridden through Maidenhead Thicket and over Maidenhead Bridge all the way to Colnbrook without finding his master.

Meanwhile, Thomas’ horse had escaped from the stable and discovered a mare in a field close by. The horse was in the act of enthusiastically tupping the equally enthusiastic mare when the mare’s owner found them. Disgruntled by the liberties taken with his mare, the owner was leading the horse to the Ostrich, to enquire of its owner, when he met Thomas’ servant, who recognised the horse as his master’s.

With so much evidence of Thomas’ presence at the Ostrich – his horse, fat purse, and clothes – Jarman gave up any pretence of innocence and made a full confession. Except, thumbing at his wife, he said, ‘’Twere all ’er idea, I just fixed t’ floor.’

It did no good; both Jarman and his wife got a hanging. It turned out that sixty of the Jarmans’ guests had been turned into penny pork pasties at the Ostrich Inn.

SOURCES

Deloney, Thomas, The History of Thomas of Reading, 1632

Westwood, Jennifer and Simpson, Jacqueline, The Lore of the Land, 2006

This story has been given here its original, rather curious, title, c. 1598.

You can visit the Ostrich Inn at Colnbrook. It is the third oldest pub in the UK, dating from 1106. It has exposed beams, ancient fireplaces, crooked stairs, and a cobbled courtyard.

TWO

SONNING

After a good breakfast and our first story, we piled onto the wagonette, drawn by two spritely horses. We made our way past the Forbury Gardens and Reading Gaol – a smart brick castle erected in 1883 with capacity for 224 prisoners, and made notorious in the ballad by Oscar Wilde. Crossing a backwater, we turned left and passed Huntley & Palmers’ biscuit manufactory, smelling the wonderful aroma of baking as we crossed the main channel of the Kennet, and joined the Great West Road eastwards, following the tramlines past noble houses up to Cemetery Junction. A little further on we passed under the railway line and our sense of smell was again delighted, this time by the profusion of flowers in Sutton’s Seeds trial ground. Up Shepherds Hill, the town far behind us now, we crossed over the railway line and turned left into Sonning Lane.

We stopped the wagonette just before we reached the gates of Holme Park, and explored the pleasant, picturesque village on foot. Walking past a cottage named Turpins, reputed to have belonged to Dick Turpin’s aunt, we entered the churchyard. The grey church tower and spacious thirteenth-century flint and stone building, once the seat of a bishopric, contains a wealth of interesting brasses, tombs and monuments. The river below the church is crossed by an ancient brick bridge of eleven arches, with beautiful views up and down the Thames.

Returning through the churchyard, we passed the Bull public house and walked up the High Street. We turned left, passed by the almshouses, and stopped outside the new parish hall, built on or near the site of an old alehouse named the Dog, a fitting place to rest and hear Joseph Cleave tell our next tale, about Berkshire highwaymen.

BERKSHIRE HIGHWAYMEN

The lonely heaths and thickets of Berkshire, crossed by main highways, were a great refuge for felons of every kind – highwaymen, robbers, footpads, outlaws and murderers. The isolated Hind’s Head Inn, in the middle of Bagshot Heath, was a favourite haunt for these villains.

Sonning: Black Bess or Knight of The Road1

The most famous, or infamous, of Berkshire’s felons were Dick Turpin and Claude Du Vall.

From an early age, Dick Turpin knew the kind of career he wanted: ‘One which stands to deliver me handsome returns, is adventurous and fun, with just a spice of danger, demands little effort on my part, and leaves me plenty of time for carousing.’

One day, his path in life became clear. ‘I know!’ he exclaimed, ‘I shall be a highwayman. It will give me all I ever wanted.’ He laughed aloud at his next thought, ‘And my byword shall be ‘Stand and Deliver’, as I relieve my patrons of their valuables.’

Dick realised this was a good choice. It required little outlay to become an outlaw, just a decent pair of pistols, a black mask, and a strong horse with plenty of intelligence. To get started in his new profession, he would need to steal a horse. So he did.

Growing up in Hempstead, Essex, not too far from the Great North Road, Dick decided to ply his trade on the quieter and lonelier stretches of this major coach route between London and York. Soon he was able to buy his dream horse from a gypsy site at Tinkler Leas near Pontefract Lane, Leeds. He called her Black Bess. She was so strong, feisty and fast that an affinity formed between Bess and Dick straightaway.

Dick’s mother had a sister who had a pub at Sonning in Berkshire, the Dog Inn. So when things got a bit too hot for him up the Great North Road, he decided to visit her. His aunt not only made him welcome, she actually applauded his choice of career, enjoyed the tales of his exploits, and suggested a few refinements. There was a stall below the Dog Inn where Black Bess could be hidden, and there was an easy escape route into Oxfordshire over Sonning Bridge. Moreover, in Maidenhead Thicket and on Bagshot Heath, ‘Stand and Deliver’ could yield rich pickings.

In Berkshire, Dick’s trade offered him fun, adventure and excitement, but little danger. The manors of Sonning, Bray and Bagshot had each a single constable, unpaid and appointed for only a year. It was the constable’s job to raise the hue and cry in order to arrest and detain criminals, but first it was up to the victims to identify the culprits – and unmasking a masked highwayman was not easy.

Dick’s plan was to develop a network of safe houses, mostly inns, where, if the hue and cry was raised, he could hide after a hold-up, enjoying flagons of fine ale before escaping when the coast was clear.

There was his aunt’s Dog Inn, where Dick could hide while Black Bess trotted down the ramp into her underground stall. When the hue and cry had passed, he could escape over Sonning Bridge into Oxfordshire, beyond the constable’s jurisdiction.

At the George Inn at Wallingford, Dick slept in a room overlooking the entrance arch, where Black Bess was tethered. When cornered, he could leap from the window onto Bess’s back and gallop to safety.

The remote Hind’s Head Inn was an ideal safe house for Dick’s forays on Bagshot Heath, as it had a secret passageway large enough for Dick and Bess to gallop through.

Dick’s favourite resort after a hold-up was an Elizabethan farmhouse at Twyford, where Black Bess could hide herself among other horses, in the field behind the house. The farmhouse had a byre on its ground floor, with outside stone steps up to living quarters warmed by the heat of the animals beneath. Here, he was always made welcome, and given a comfortable room overlooking the road. In a beam in this room was a secret hollow, which Dick used to hide his stolen jewels.

Dick Turpin made regular visits to his old haunts on the Great North Road, and reached an ignominious end – the end of a hangman’s rope – in York, having been found guilty of stealing a horse.

The Wokingham ‘Blacks’

The most notorious band of outlaws were the Wokingham ‘Blacks’, who blackened their faces so as not to be identified. Under the leadership of a farm labourer, Will Shorter, the ‘Blacks’ became a dangerous gang of criminals, terrorising the neighbourhood, robbing, poaching, blackmailing, and committing murder.

Partly through intimidation, and partly because their blackened faces prevented them from being recognised, the gang escaped punishment. However, they were so feared that a special Act of Parliament was passed, called the ‘Black Act’, which made it a felony to blacken one’s face.

Several members of the gang were finally killed on Bagshot Heath, trying to evade capture, while others, including Will Shorter, were transported.

Bracknell: Claude Du Vall

Claude Du Vall was born in France, the son of a miller. At the age of fourteen, due to his willingness to run errands and undertake the meanest of tasks, he inveigled himself into the services of some English gentlemen, living in lodgings in the Faubourg St Germain, which were something between an alehouse and a bawdy-house. He continued in this service until he was able to sail to England, on a wave of enthusiasm for the restoration of King Charles II, as footman to the Duke of Richmond.

Claude thrived on the extravagances of restoration London, becoming proficient at gambling, drunkenness and philandering. His position as footman, though lowly, brought him into contact with young ladies of quality. Whenever he found a young lady married to an aged or neglectful husband, Claude’s dashing good looks, confident French manners, and silver, persuasive tongue soon drew her into a surreptitious and delightful dalliance.

It was plain to him, however, that in order to maintain his lifestyle he needed a more lucrative profession than that of footman – one which furnished him with maximum income for minimum effort, and left plenty of time for debauchery. So, Claude became a highwayman. A few days spent around Bracknell Forest and Bagshot Heath, he soon found, could set him up in London for the rest of the month. Lodging at the Hind’s Head Inn on Bagshot Heath, too, had its compensations: gambling, debauchery and good company.

Even as a highwayman, Claude’s gallantry towards ladies of quality did not desert him. He received intelligence one day of a knight travelling across Bagshot Heath in his coach with 400s in his purse. When Claude stopped the coach and demanded that the knight hand over the purse, the knight’s spritely lady, with enormous presence of mind, took out her flageolet and played a brisk tune. As playing the flageolet was one of Claude’s own accomplishments, he took out his own instrument and played with her.

Then he addressed the knight. ‘Monsieur, your lady plays excellently, and I have no doubt but she dances just as well. Will it please you for her to step from the coach and dance one courante with me upon the heath?’

‘I dare not deny anything, sir,’ the knight replied readily, ‘to a gentleman of such quality and good manners.’

Claude leapt lightly from his horse and helped the lady down from the coach. Then, Claude and the lady danced a courante upon the grass with all the grace and elegance you might find in a ballroom at Versailles.

When the dance was done, Claude handed the lady into the coach before addressing the knight. ‘Monsieur, it may have escaped your notice, but you have not paid for the entertainment.’

The knight opened his purse, looked Claude in the eye, and with a smile handed over 100s. Claude received this with good grace and a courteous response. ‘Monsieur, 100 shillings freely given is better than ten times the amount taken by force, and by your generosity in allowing me to dance and play with your lady, you are excused the 300 shillings remaining in your purse. Monsieur et Madame, I wish you bon voyage.’

Claude then allowed the coach to continue on its way, and the knight and his lady passed safely across the heath.

Alas, Claude’s career was all too brief. He was such a terror to travellers that large rewards were offered, and he was captured, while drunk, in the Hole-in-the-Wall Tavern in Chandos Street, and condemned to death. It was hardly surprising how many ladies of quality interceded on his behalf, but the King expressly denied him all hope of pardon, and he was hanged at Tyburn at the age of twenty-seven. His body was cut down and laid in state at the Tangier Tavern, St Giles, where those great ladies sobbed bitter tears over him.

He was buried in the centre aisle of St Paul’s Church, Covent Garden, under a stone inscribed with his epitaph:

Here lies Du Vall

Reader, if male thou art, look to thy purse

If female, to thy heart

After this story, the wagonette collected us from outside Sonning Village Hall. We trundled on to the end of the road and turned right onto Charvil Lane; we crossed the Great West Road and carried on to Twyford, where Mr Cleave pointed out the old farmhouse mentioned in his tale.

SOURCES

Heelas, Arthur T., Historical Sketch of Wokingham, 1930

Lee, Sidney (Ed.), Dictionary of National Biography, Vol. LVII, 1899

Stephen, Leslie (Ed.), Dictionary of National Biography, Vol. XVI, 1888

Viles, Edward, Black Bess or the Knight of the Road, 1866

Two hundred and fifty years after Dick Turpin, the author had an office in the old farmhouse where Dick Turpin had slept. Alas, the hollow beam contained no jewels. You will find the beautiful Elizabethan building on Twyford High Street.

Claude Du Vall’s burial in St Paul’s Church, Covent Garden, known as ‘The Actor’s Church’, is a folk tale.