Marsden Moor Revisited

Marsden Moor
I’ve written about Marsden Moor quite extensively already on this blog (here and here), but it is always good to revisit and take the opportunity to find something new.

I find that whenever I visit Pule Hill, the temptation is to head straight for the top. That is exactly what I did on a recent visit with my nephews and niece recently.

As I was pointing out the ventilation shafts for the Stanage Tunnel , it struck me that I hadn’t ever taken the time to go and photograph the area on the side of the hill, usually bypassing it in favour of the summit.

So the next day I went back, armed with my camera and a determination to capture those industrial towers rising from the hillside. I found that unlike Redbridge Engine House on the other side of the, road (another relic related to construction of the Stanage Tunnel), the ventilation shafts weren’t quite so photogenic. Despite frequently changing lens, moving around the brick towers and trying different compositions, I just couldn’t settle upon an image that quite captured what I wanted.

Pule Hill Ruins

Fortunately, Pule Hill is rich in other features and eventually I eventually settled on the image above, in which the ventilation tower is relegated to a middle distance feature, with the course of the path and a ruined hut providing foreground interest.

Telegraph poles and the boardwalk over a particularly boggy section of path, also provided good subjects and I couldn’t resist having another crack at the old milestone at the foot of Pule Hill, which dates from the old turnpike road, build by Blind Jack Metcalf of Knaresborough.

I was a little disappointed that no light managed to break through, but I think that the dark skies suite the nature of the place well.

Path to Pule HillPule Hill Milestone

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Deadmanstone

DeadmanstoneThe Deadmanstone at Berry Brow near Huddersfield, is a nearly forgotten outcrop of rock, through which a natural tunnel runs. Numerous legends surround this unassuming eruption of rock from the hillside, that may or may not explain how it came about its name.

Local folklore tells that in the days when the church at Almondbury served as the parish church for the Holme Valley, funeral processions passing the stone would stop and rest the coffin. A distant local memory also recalls that corpses would be taken from their coffins and pulled through the hole, before recommencing on their journey to Almondbury. Perhaps this represented some symbolic form of passage to another world.

Another legend is equally gruesome and gives various accounts that the remains of a ‘soldier’ were found walled up either at the stone (possibly in the tunnel) or somewhere nearby. Variants state that the soldier was either Roman or maybe a victim of Scottish Boarder Reivers, who raided deep into England. The legend isn’t specific about where or when the soldier was found and could possibly be transposed from the site of the (now demolished) Deadmanstone House or its medieval predecessor, which was a fortified manor house with deep cellars.

A further possibility could be that the Deadmanstone was the site of the burial of a prehistoric chief or warrior and the legend has become confused over the years. Indeed the name ‘Deadman’ could have been derived from ‘Dobman’ or ‘Dobbie’, a legendary shape-shifting spirit, popular in local lore and often associated with guardianship of burial places. The hole in the stone may also be associated with healing or ritual purposes, by passing through the stone as above.

The stone is also associated with another enduring legend that a tunnel leads from the nearby ancient fort of Castle Hill, about a mile away. Castle Hill is associated with a number of tunnel legends, which could possibly denote solar or lunar alignments from the hill. Or may have been influenced by the deep cellars of the former manor house, that stood on the land directly above the Deadmanstone, now occupied by a modern housing estate.

That so many legends are still attached to this odd outcrop is heartening. Especially as it now sits enclosed by modern housing and is often passed by cars entering and leaving the estate. A small remainder of Huddersfield’s past clings doggedly to the hillside, despite how its surroundings have changed.
Deadmanstone Berry Brow
Deadmanstone: Door to the Other World: Steve Sneyd, Northern Earth No. 99, 2004
Legends & Traditions of Huddersfield & Its District: Philip Ahier, 1944
The Old Stones of Elmet: Paul Bennett, 2001

A Morning at Whitley Edge

A cloudy morning on Royd Moor

A cloudy morning on Royd Moor

As far as sunrises go, it was about as bad as it could get. I could see when I awoke, that the skies were laden with cloud. But you don’t really know what it is going to happen until you are there and often some of the best shots come from the worst conditions. Those moments when the sun punches through the cloud and produces dramatic light don’t come from clear blue skies.

Besides, it feels like a bit of a cop-out to go back to sleep once you have taken the trouble to haul yourself up at stupid o’clock and I was keen to get out anyway. So at 5.15am on a Sunday morning in Spring, I found myself gazing at grey leaden skies above Royd Moor, near Penistone.

An 18th century guide stoop, with wall built around it.

An 18th century guide stoop, with wall built around it.

I’ve shot around Royd Moor numerous times, as there are some wonderful views towards Woodhead Pass and Black Hill. Also, it has some fascinating old stone walls that probably date back to the Enclosures Act (I have written about High Bank Lane on this blog previously), but I’ve not been there for sunrise before and was curious to see how it would pan out.

Even when the sky is obscured by cloud, there is often a bright patch to indicate where the sun will rise. Sometimes even a gap in the cloud through which a chink of light can develop. This morning there was nothing! I had parked near the observation point that looks out over the wind turbines on Spicer Hill, as I knew that this would offer the clearest views of the eastern horizon and walked a short way down High Bank Lane. Sunrise came and went unheralded, not even a noticeable increase in light levels. Still, it was a good morning for black and white, so I rattled off a few hopeful shots of some of my favourite views.

Across the fields to Crow Edge.

Across the fields to Crow Edge.

As the time was about 5.45am, it was far too early to admit defeat, so I decided to head for nearby Whitley Edge. Another favourite spot that is hidden away above Crow Edge that hasn’t been photographed to death, like some of the more popular locations.

I was also keen to take another look at the ruins of Lower Whitley Farm, as it had been used as the set for external shots of Jamaica Inn, in the recent BBC adaptation. This is another spot that I have photographed a few times and I noticed that the production team had made quite a few changes, such as removing the wall around the yard, clearing rubble and building a few extra bits of set.

The ruins of Lower Whitley Farm at Crow Edge.

The ruins of Lower Whitley Farm at Crow Edge.

The ruins of the old farm are a perfect setting for a period tale of dark doings. Brooding on Crow Edge, the decaying hulk is surrounded by boggy fields and collapsing dry stone walls. I find that abandoned buildings often have a melancholy air about them. It is as if the fabric of the building soaks up the lives of its past inhabitants, their hopes and fears, laughter and arguments and allows those stored up emotions to seep out as the building decays. Lower Whitley Farm has this in spades.

The building is now fenced off, although just a few years ago, it was open for exploration. A small farmhouse is attached to a series of barns, with the largest of these set centrally behind a fantastic arched doorway. One of the smaller barns still has the rotting remains of wooden stalls for animals. How many more winters the old roof will last is anyone’s guess.

I worked my way around the house, lining up views through old gateways and trying a few shots through the fence. It was then that I noticed scurrying movement around me, in the reeds that cluster around the boggy patches. Hares were racing after each other in pursuit of a female, oblivious to my presence. I sat and watched them for a while. I may not have got much by the way of light but sometimes it’s just good to be out!

Whitley Edge, looking towards Crow Edge and Hepworth.

Whitley Edge, looking towards Crow Edge and Hepworth.

The many layers of landscape photography

What is it about landscape photography that makes me keep going back for more?

I spent much of one Sunday morning asking myself this question, as a ferocious wind did its damnedest to blast me off of Marsden Moor.

A wind blasted morning at Millstone Edge

A wind blasted morning at Millstone Edge

Crouched behind a large rock, which provided at least a little shelter from the grasping fingers of the Pennine wind, waiting for a break in the clouds, I began to ponder just what it was that had coaxed me out of bed at 4.00am and up on to the moor on a day like this. I spotted a jogger approaching, the only other living soul that I saw all morning. We waved at each other in grim solidarity, in recognition of each other’s battle with the elements.

It was this that made me realise that it was a question of motivation. I could have been happily snoozing in a warm bed, but it was the promise of possibilities that had lured me up to the moor. The prospect of capturing something unique and beautiful, that told a little of the story of this amazing and often overlooked corner of the British Isles.

In my mind, landscape photography is about much more than taking photographs. It isn’t about the amount of kit that you carry with you. All of the stuff that you read in photography magazines is about making you buy more products from their advertisers, not about making you a better photographer.

To me, landscape photography is about getting to know your locations inside out. Appreciating how  geology has formed the shape of the land, how human interaction has affected its appearance and the values that have been placed upon it. Going back time after time, experiencing locations in all seasons and weather conditions. After a while, you learn to read the landscape before you. Knowing where the sun will rise and set at any given time of year and which angles you can effectively photograph. How history has interacted with the landscape, building up layers of meaning and telling the story of the location.

Muddy moorland tracks

Muddy moorland tracks

Hidden beauty! It is surprising what beauty can be found in a bit of boggy moorland

Hidden beauty! It is surprising what beauty can be found in a bit of boggy moorland

I have already written about the history of Marsden Moor here and here. Also about the area’s greatest son, Ammon Wrigley here. As you walk (or on this occasion, stagger) across the moor, you are surrounded by history. Every hilltop around you has something on it. Fragments of flint left by Mesolithic hunters, or burials left by Bronze Age farmers. Down in the valley of Castleshaw, the Romans built two forts, driving their road northwards over the moor and around Pule Hill. Angles, Saxons and Vikings made their farmsteads in the area (one Viking losing a gold ring in Chew Valley, over the hill in Saddleworth). The Normans used much of the area around Huddersfield for hunting, building their castle at Castle Hill nearby.

The industrial revolution swept through the area, bringing textile manufacture and sowing the seeds of the early Labour Movement throughout the valleys, in the shape of Luddites, Plug Rioters and Chartists. History even passes under your feet here, in the shape of the Standedge Tunnels. Redbrook engine house was used to haul rock out of the tunnel and you can still even see the rows in which the rock was tipped from carts on the spoil heaps surrounding the building. As the narrowest point of the Pennines, Standedge has for millennia, been the place where transport routes cross the hills.

The drystone wall outlines of fields wrestled from the moor, now lie jumbled, as the moor once again takes back its own. The Pennine Way crosses the moor. A symbol of hard won victories by our forefathers (in this case particularly Tom Stephenson) in wrestling access to the land from the ownership of the privileged few, for the enjoyment of the many. A battle fought famously on Kinder Scout, just a couple of hilltops away from here.

A small section of the Pennine Way, as it crosses Marsden Moor
A small section of the Pennine Way, as it crosses Marsden Moor

 

Light breaking around the Pennine Way on Marsden Moor
Light breaking around the Pennine Way on Marsden Moor

I feel a deep connection with the Southern Pennines, particularly the areas around Huddersfield where I was born and where my father took me walking when I was as a child. The sense of wonder at the contrasts between the industrialised valleys, with dark mills and grim looking factories, clustering around the rivers and canals, and the wild hilltops has never left me. Once I left school and began work in those foreboding places, where daylight hardly penetrated through over a century of accumulated grime, those wild and airy hilltops became even more important as a means of escape. A liminal place to dream of better things. Maybe this is one of the reasons why the Chartists took their meetings on to the hills. Not just to evade the watchful eye of authority, but to take their ideas to a place where freedom is tangible and ideas are received by the expansive sky, rather than the stamping boot of oppression.

Most of those factories are now gone. Nowhere is this more apparent than in Milnsbridge, which once bristled with mill chimneys. I am just about old enough to remember the last few that rose out of Colne Valley. I would stand on the hillside above Manchester Road, where I played as a child and marvel at their height, the sense of space and depth that they created. But they have now passed into history and many of the mills have been scoured of that accumulated grime and turned into flats.

Even though those old places of toil are now largely gone, the open spaces of the Pennines are still as important now as they ever were. Work in places of production may have been replaced with work in places of service. Job security has been replaced with fear of redundancy, our wages stagnated and our rights eroded by temporary or zero hour contracts. Where austerity has replaced hope of a better future for ordinary people, we once again need those open spaces to dream of better things. Places that allow the human spirit to soar and our ideas to take form, away from the suffocating grasp of an increasingly judgemental media and the authoritarian tone that is pervading society.

Fast moving clouds on a windy Millstone Edge

Fast moving clouds on a windy Millstone Edge

It is these layers of history, threads of intertwining meaning stretching back in to early human development and beyond, that fuel my passion for these hills. Over the course of thousands of years, people have come and gone, each using the landscape in different ways, each placing different meanings on the land.

Those layers remain, waiting for us to discover them. And that is the thing that motivates me out of bed and onto the hills, to take up the promise of discovery. Another chance to untangle those layers, using my viewfinder as a frame to tell those stories and the various screens that we place in front of ourselves to advertise the importance of these places. To remind people in the present, that those who went before us placed values on the landscape that transcend our modern interpretations.

Our landscapes and access to them must be protected, for they belong to us all. Including everyone who has been here before us, those of us who are here now and those who will follow us. The weight of custodianship is upon us and in order to protect them, we need to understand and appreciate our landscapes first.

As I crouched behind that stone on Marsden Moor, I could almost see Ammon Wrigley striding up onto the moor as he would have done 100 years ago. The Pennine wind pulling at his coat and scarf, past the Dinner Stone, where his ashes were scattered. It is his words that I think may be most pertinent to end this piece.

The strange wild people of the past
Have vanished race on race,
And we, like shadows on the grass,
Now pass before its face.

Ammon Wrigley, On a Yorkshire Moor

Sunrise at Northern Rotcher

Sunrise on Northern Rotcher

 

 

 

Hartshead Church: Brontës, Luddites and Robin Hood

Heatshead Church

Heatshead Church

For many, the name Hartshead will only be familiar via the motorway service station on the M62, just before the junction 25 turn off for Huddersfield. However, this quiet little corner of West Yorkshire guards a deep sense of history.

The first known church to be built here was a Norman church, built in at least 1120 when the Earl of Warren granted the site to the Priory of Lewes. Some elements of the Norman stonework still survive. This may have replaced an earlier Saxon chapel. In a field nearby lies the Lady Well, where it is thought that Paulinus may have performed baptisms and hints at a much longer tradition of worship here, going back well before Christianity reached Britain. The church was remodelled in 1662 and was extensively renovated in 1881, which is the structure that we see today.

In the churchyard stands the remains of an ancient Yew tree, which is probably at least as old as the church itself. Local folklore tells that Robin Hood cut his final arrow from this tree before his arrival at the nearby Kirklees Priory (Nunwood in Charlotte Brontë’s ‘Shirley’). It is said that he was the nephew of the Prioress and sought refuge here to be bled (a common medieval cure for ailments). Upon his arrival with his companion Little John, he was installed in the gate house, where either by accident or design the Prioress bled him to death. His grave is still reputedly in the grounds of Kirklees Park (another version has his final resting place at Hartshead Church). Little John left casting a curse on the Priory and it is said that the Prioress’ ghost still stalks the grounds.

Left: The ancient yew treeRight: A sundial dating from 1611

Left: The ancient yew tree
Right: A sundial dating from 1611

Patrick Brontë served as vicar here from 1810 to 1815, at a time when the Huddersfield area was in the grip of revolutionary Luddite uprisings that so scared the authorities, 1000 troops were garrisoned in the town. While at Hartshead, Brontë met his wife Maria and had two children, Elizabeth and Maria, neither of which survived infancy. Charlotte Brontë later based her book ‘Shirley’ on the area, with Hartshead Church being cast as Nunneley.

On the night of 11th April 1812, between 150 to 300 Luddites gathered near the waymarker known locally as ‘Dumb Steeple’ in Cooper Bridge. They set off across Harthead Moor with the intention of storming William Cartwright’s Mill at Rawfold, near Cleckheaton. Cartwright had received a tip-off and had fortified his mill in preparation, arming a handful of employees and appealing to the Cumberland Militia (stationed just a mile away) to provide men. What followed can only be described as carnage.

As the Luddites attempted to break in, they were fired at from the mill and were eventually forced to withdraw, leaving behind two seriously wounded men. The wounded were taken to the Star Inn, Roberttown, were both died from loss of blood. Many others were wounded and it is said that trails of blood and flesh, even a finger were found in the area around the mill. It is known that several Luddites died later from their wounds, some reputedly being buried in secrecy in Hartshead Churchyard. Patrick Brontë was opposed to the Luddites, but did not stop the funerals.

The Luddite losses at Rawfold led directly to an act of revenge, with the shooting of William Horsfall, the owner of Ottiwell’s Mill in Marsden, while en-route over Crosland Moor back to Marsden from Huddersfield*. The Milnsbridge Magistrate, Joseph Radcliffe pursued the case vigorously and three men were hung at the New Drop at York Castle for their supposed part in Horsfall’s murder. A further thirteen men hung, for their part in the raid on Rawfold’s.

Although the authorities managed on this occasion to stamp out the threat of the Luddites, resentment burned for generations to come and this was just the first of many uprisings and campaigns in the area, that eventually led to the formation of Trade Unions and better working conditions.

Dark clouds over Heatshead Church

Thought to be near the spot of the Luddite burials

*To be covered in detail in a separate article to come.

Black Dick of the North

Black Dick's Tower

Black Dick’s Tower

Every year on the 5th July, this little folly near Mirfield, known as Black Dick’s Tower or The Temple, is said to be haunted by the ghost of ‘Black Dick of the North’, carrying his severed head under his arm.

There is much conflicting information about Sir Richard Beaumont (1574-1631). He was named ‘Black Dick of the North’ by James I, it is supposed because of his dark doings. He is said to have variously been a highway man, a gambler, a bad debtor and was supposedly killed in a duel. He is also said to have murdered a young serving girl who he had made pregnant and practiced black magic at the tower.

What is known to be fact about Richard Beaumont is that he was the son of Edward Beaumont and Elizabeth Ramsden and was first cousin to Elizabeth I. He was knighted by James I in 1609 and in 1615, was a Justice of the Peace for the County of York. He was in command of a Kirkheaton troop of soldiers and was treasurer of a fund for disabled soldiers of the West Riding. In 1625 he was a Member of Parliament for Pontefract and in 1628, was made Baronet of Whitley by Charles I. His estates included Sandal Castle near Wakefield. He founded Kirkheaton Grammar School in 1610, with Reverend Stock and when he died in 1631, he was interred in the Beaumont Chapel in Kirkheaton Church, where his wonderfully elaborate tomb can still be seen. Although he died unmarried, he had two illegitimate daughters, Isabella Lees and Isabella Bromswood.

The Beaumonts arrived in Britain with William the Conquerer and were awarded lands in Huddersfield in the early part of the 13th century, as part of the Honour of Pontefract, held by the De Laci family. Whitley Hall was built by Richard Beaumont in the early 17th century, although there was probably a house on the site as early as the late 14th century. It was remodelled in 1704 and the grounds landscaped by Capability Brown. The Beaumont family continued the occupy the hall until 1917. An attempt at restoration was made by Charles Sutcliff who bought the hall in 1924 but it was sold once again in 1950, this time to an open cast mining company and the hall was demolished. The Temple is now the only structure that remains of the estate. It stands on a ridge of high ground, just off Liley Lane between Grange Moor and Kirkheaton.

There are a number of potential holes in this particular ghost story. It is likely that Richard was named Black Dick of the North due to his swarthy complexion and black hair. The Temple was built (most likely as a summer house) in 1752, over a century after he had died. His tomb gives his date of death as being October 20th and not July 5th. Also, a bit of historical confusion may lie behind the story of his headless ghost, as it was Robert de Beaumont who lost his head during the Elland Fued c.1341, when the John de Eland attacked him in his home at Crosland Hall in Crosland Moor.

When they had slain thus suddenly
Sir Robert Beaumont’s side,
To Crossland they came craftily
Of Nought they were afraid.

The lady cry’d and shrieked withal,
When as from her they led
Her dearest knight into the hall
And there cut off his head.

Author unknown c.16th C

It seems that in this case, tales from elsewhere have been twisted a little to fix them to this particular location. And perhaps in the process, unfairly staining the good name of Richard Beaumont.

PS: Those of you who have reached this post via a Google Search for ‘Black Dick’, sorry to disappoint you!

Castle Hill: History & Folklore Pt3

Introduction

In this final installment I examine perhaps the most enduring and romantic legend attached to Castle Hill, that of the Dragon and the Golden Cradle and see how this could possibly connect the hill to another feature in the surrounding landscape.

The Victoria Tower at Castle Hill looking west to West Nab

The Victoria Tower at Castle Hill looking west to West Nab

The Dragon in Folklore

A very old tale tells that Castle Hill is home to a sleeping dragon that guards a golden cradle. Folklore of dragons as the guardians of treasure can be found all over the world. Some of the earliest written tales seem to have originated in Greek Mythology but it is likely that the notion is much older.

In the case of Castle Hill, it is possible that this particular legend was attached to the hill in the time of the Anglo-Saxons, although of course dragons existed in Celtic and Norse lore too. The dragon of the Saxons was the Wyrm, often depicted looking more like a ferocious serpent without the wings or limbs of the better-known Medieval dragon. In a rental record of 1425, the hill is referred to as. ‘three acres of demesne land called Wormcliffe’. The name occurs again in a manorial survey of 1584 (1).

It was common for dragon legends to be attached to hills and burial chambers by the Germanic peoples who came to Britain at the time that the Roman Empire was beginning to crumble. Such as Wormelow Tump in Herefordshire, said to be the burial place of Arthur’s son Amr and Drake Howe cairn near Guisborough, thought to originate from the Old Norse ‘draukr’. In the epic Saxon poem Beowulf, he finally meets his end fighting a dragon that guard’s treasure, when a slave steals a cup from the hoard and provokes attacks upon the towns and crops of the Geats.

The dragon was a potent symbol in Britain following the Roman retreat. The Saxon battle standard was that of a white dragon, which had probably been inherited from the Roman draco, a wood or metal dragon head with gaping jaws on a pole or lance with coloured material fixed behind it. This would bellow like a windsock and most probably make an unsettling noise when caught by the wind or in motion. These were first thought to have been introduced into the Roman Army by Samaritan and Dacian cavalry during the 2nd century (2).

The battles between the Britons and the Saxons is symbolised by dragons in the tales of Merlin. Vortigern, King of the Britons is attempting to erect a tower after beating a retreat into northwest Wales from the Saxons. Each day, he and his men return to find their work destroyed. Vortigern is advised by his wise men to sacrifice a boy with no father and sprinkle his blood on the foundations to appease the restless spirits of the place. His men go out and eventually return with a boy named Myrddin Emrys (Merlin Ambrosius). Merlin advised that the tower would not stand as a pool containing two dragons, one white and the other red lay beneath the tower placed there by Lludd. He ordered that the pool should be dug out and drained and the dragons released. This Vortigern did and the two dragons fought fiercely. When asked to tell what this portended, Merlin explained that the white dragon was the Saxons and the red the Britons. That the Saxons were winning and would oppress the Britons but that a leader would emerge and drive the Saxons back. The fort was named DInas Emrys (Fortress of Ambrosius) (3) (4).

Dragons and serpents are also used as symbols of paganism in folktales of the christianisation of Britain. At Winlatter Rocks in Derbyshire, a priest fought off a dragon and left his footprints behind in the process. St Columba’s encounter with the Loch Ness Monster is also an allegorical tale of the victory of christianity over paganism.

The Celtic goddess Bride (another aspect of the Brigantine goddess Brigid) was known as the Serpent Queen. The day of Brigid/Bride is 1st of February (the pagan Imbolc or christian Candlemass), the snake is believed to emerge from its bolt hole on this day and symbolise the coming of spring. ‘Early on Bride’s morn shall the serpent come from the hole, I will not harm the serpent, nor will the serpent harm me’ (5). When St Patrick supposedly drove the serpents out of Ireland, he in reality was attempting to purge Ireland of the worship of Bride. He was of course unsuccessful and she became christianised as St Bride.

As we have already seen in the previous part of this blog, Brigid was likely to have already been associated with the hill by the Brigantines, by way of being the goddess of high places. It is also possible that the hill was seen as a sacred place of Brigid by way of the fire that destroyed a section of the hillfort. Maybe a shrine was placed on the hill to placate the goddess (6). Brigid also being associated with fire (7). If Brigid/Bride’s guise of the Serpent Queen was also considered here, then there is already a tradition in place of the hill being protected by a serpent. It may also be that as the hill was circled by quite impressive fortifications, the Saxons recognised it as a likely place for a stronghold in the case of possible rebellion and the sleeping dragon is a representation of a possible Celtic uprising should the dragon awake.

West Nab dominates the horizon beyond Netherton and Meltham

The saddleform feature of West Nab dominates the horizon beyond Netherton and Meltham

The Cradle

What then of the golden cradle, the treasure that the dragon is said to guard? Why a cradle and not a hoard of treasure as at many other sites bestowed by dragon and treasure legends? (8) If the hill was home to an altar to Brigid, could it have been that infanticide occurred at such a place?

‘The invasion of Britain in the first century could have been considered catastrophic enough to trigger the sacrifice of newborns by indigenous people attempting to persuade the gods to lend them assistance in their resistance to the invading Romans.  Researchers at Hambleden were appalled to discover at least one infant skeleton with cut marks indicating it had been possibly ritually dismembered.’ (9)

Or perhaps in a world where infant mortality was much more commonplace than now, maybe deceased offspring were brought to the hill in some form of funerary rite. Alternatively, it could be possible that newborns were brought to the hill for a form of blessing, the Serpent Queen protecting their cradle.

Another possible and very interesting explanation that involves a connection to another landscape feature is suggested by John Billingsley. Symbolic landscapes have found gathering acceptance in association with ancient sites. For example, Callanish stone circle on the Isle of Lewis is aligned to a landscape feature on the horizon, known as ‘Cailleach na Mointeach’ or the ‘Old Woman of the Moors’, formed by the shape of Mount Clisham. It is here that a lunar phenomenon occurs every 18.6 years where the moon skims low across the hills. Also at the summer solstice sunrise, the ‘golden one’ is said to walk down the avenue of stones. A likely reference to the sun. Avebury stone circle lies at the heart of a symbolic landscape that includes both natural and man-made features such as the massive artificial hill, Silbury Hill. Castlerig Stone Circle in Cumbria uses surrounding landscape features as alignments. These are just three well-known places in a long and growing list of symbolic landscapes in the British Isles.

The southwestern horizon from Castle Hill, looking towards the moors beyond Holmfirth to Meltham Moor, is dominated by a saddle feature formed between the points of West Nab and Hind Hill on Shooters Nab. John Billingsley suggests that when the sun sets between these two points (thought to be during February, if 1st February, that would be perfect) this could represent the golden cradle.

‘If we follow this line of speculation so far, what then might we make of the legend of the golden cradle, the treasure of Castle Hill? Gold, like the sun, like fire; a cradle, like a bowl, like the saddle on the SW horizon; treasure, like the protection of a powerful goddess; buried in the ramparts, where the mysterious fire started. Nothing proven, but perhaps there is something to think about?’ (10)

Here another representation of Brigid as the goddess of fire may come into play. The sun, cradled in the saddle of the hills like the eternal flame of Brigid, or Brigid putting the sun to bed in its cradle.

A further theory of interest is put forward by Catherine McLester, similar in regard of a celestial alignment being at the heart of the golden cradle legend but this time centered on the belief that the cradle is buried in the hill’s ditches.

‘According to tradition the cradle lies buried at a certain point in the ditch or moat between the north-east ward and the middle ward on which the public house stands.’ Philip Ahier (11)

Catherine McLester suggests that possibly during an autumnal moonrise over the hill, the rising moon may align with the ditch in question, when viewed from the south east of the hill and form the golden cradle of legend (12).

The summit of West Nab. A compass carved in the rock near the ‘bowled’ stone

The summit of West Nab. A compass carved in the rock near the ‘bowled’ stone

West Nab

West Nab itself is a place worthy of consideration. Sat on the western point of Meltham Moor overlooking Wessenden Head, it too could have a very interesting history. The summit of the hill is strewn with boulders that is the result of glacial scatter. At the very top of the hill is a curious looking boulder that is greatly weathered, along the brow of which are three large ‘bowls’, big enough for a man to sit in. Next to this stone, underlying the trig point is what looks very much like the remains of an ancient cairn. There is also what could be a toppled former rocking stone lying on the cairn spoil and other rocking stones (now destroyed) have been recorded elsewhere on the Nab. In some cases, rocking stones have also been known as cradle stones. As one of the highest points locally, it would be no surprise if it were found to have been a place of reverence to the Bronze and Iron Age locals. Visible from both West Nab and Castle Hill is Pule Hill on Marsden Moor, where early Bronze Age cremation burials have been found.

A letter to the Yorkshire Post in the 1930’s ventures to call West Nab a ‘Temple of the Sun’:

‘The unique feature at West Nab is the three seats cut in the rock of the highest and largest stone, facing the east, doubtless those of the priests of the sacred Triad, from which they watched for the first rays of the sunrise, when the sacrifice was made’.

Although the local historian and folklorist Philip Ahier correctly explains away the correspondent’s suppositions as being the result of nature (13). I still can’t help but feel that in a way, he may be right in his suspicions of West Nab being a place of ancient importance. There has been plenty of ancient historical activity around West Nab.

In the fields on either side of Wessenden Head Road, that rises out of the village of Meltham are two ancient earthworks. On the left by Royd Edge (where flints have been found) is an irregular square enclosure that resistivity surveys suggest was probably Iron Age in date. On the right below Oldfield Hill is a sub-rectangular enclosure. Here the same resistivity surveys didn’t quite find a conclusive use, but dated it to possible Iron Age or Romano-British (14). One finding was that the ditches are cut in a ‘V’ shape, which is common (although not exclusive) for early Roman military earthworks. It is possible that this was a rudimentary Roman Camp that oversaw an early attempt to cross the Pennines via Wessenden Head, the current A635 and into Saddleworth. A possible ‘Agger’ (raised bed of a Roman Road) has been found at Shiny Brook Clough (15). A Roman observation post at Castle Hill would have overlooked both the camp and a good section of that road.

West Nab Triangulation Point possibly sits on top of an ancient cairn

West Nab Triangulation Point possibly sits on top of an ancient cairn

Conclusion

It seems then, that the story of the dragon and the golden cradle is likely to be an amalgamation of certain cultural or religious influences associated with the hill and possible celestial alignments that build eventually into the legend that we are familiar with. Possibly beginning with the tale of the golden cradle by way of mythologising actual events into folk memory, followed by the addition of a guardian dragon by Germanic invaders from their own culture, or the adaption of associations that already existed via an identification of the hill with Brigid or as a possible centre for native uprisings. We must remember that in past times, people did not apply the same literal meanings to stories that we do today. Folktales are often ways in which societies with oral traditions remember events, customs or allegories to pass from one generation to the next. They have layers of meaning that speak to those who are accustomed in their ways. It is common for tales to change over time as embellishments are added by subsequent storytellers.

Much by the way of tradition and folklore has been lost over the years. The little that we know about the Celts, particularly the Celtic inhabitants of Yorkshire, comes from the Romans and it is likely that a great deal of what they wrote was biased and self serving. By the time the Normans arrived in Britain, a thousand years had passed since the Roman invasion. Our understanding of that period of British history is fragmentary at best and a great deal of what has survived can be dubious or inaccurate. So piecing together the ancient tales of this land can sometimes be a matter of personal interpretation that is open for correction if later evidence comes to light. I will happily amend any content if that should happen.

I hope that though out this short series I have been able to demonstrate that the landscape we see around us today, can be viewed almost as a storybook of the history of the area. Physical remains, legends and place names sometimes reveal a glimpse into a distant past and unrecorded events that have long passed from memory. This can add levels of meaning and interest to photographic work in the landscape.

If anyone has any questions or further information regarding the history and folklore of the areas that I have covered (or any others around Yorkshire/Derbyshire and the Peaks), please feel very welcome to contact me via my website.

Sunrise from West Nab Brow. Castle Hill is to the left of the sun

Sunrise from West Nab Brow. Castle Hill is to the left of the sun

(1) The Making of Huddersfield – George Redmonds

(2) Robert Vermaat

(3) History of the Kings of Britain – Geoffrey of Monmouth

(4) Geoffrey of Monmouth’s works are generally thought to be rather unreliable as historical references. It seems that he has taken earlier tales of Myrddin and added the Ambrosius part of the name to create a link with Ambrosius Aurelianus, a 5th century Romano-British leader who campaigned against the Saxons and may have led the British forces at the Battle of Badon Hill. He is also one of the historical figures that may have influenced early tales of King Arthur.

(5) From a Gaelic prayer for St Bride’s Day – Kate Westwood 1998

(6) An Earth Mysteries Interpretation of Castle Hill – John Billingsley

(7) A perpetual flame in honour of Brigid/St Bride was kept alight at Kildare. It was only extinguished during Henry VIII’s Dissolution of the Monasteries.

(8) This is probably a good point to refresh your memory that a Romano-British coin hoard was found on the hill in 1829, including five Brigantine gold coins.

(9) Simon Mays 2011

(10) An Earth Mysteries Interpretation of Castle Hill – John Billingsley

(11) Legends and Traditions of the District of Huddersfield, Vol 1 – Philip Ahier

(12) Castle Hill and the Golden Cradle, Huddersfield Local History Journal, Winter 2005-2006 – Catherine McLester

(13) Legends and Traditions of the District of Huddersfield, Vol 2 – Philip Ahier

(14) Royd Edge & Oldfield Hill Earthworks, Geophysical Survey – Archaeological Services WYAS

(15) Three Ravens to the West, Northern Earth Magazine issue 76 – Steve Sneyd