Northumberland Yesterday And To Day, Jean F. Terry [learn to read activity book .txt] 📗
- Author: Jean F. Terry
Book online «Northumberland Yesterday And To Day, Jean F. Terry [learn to read activity book .txt] 📗». Author Jean F. Terry
Of The Delavals, Which Family Became Extinct In The Male Line Early In
The Nineteenth Century. The Last Delaval, A Very Learned Man, Was Buried
In Westminster Abbey In 1814. The Hall Was Built For Admiral Delaval In
1707 To The Design Of Sir J. Vanbrugh, Who Also Designed Blenheim
Palace, Given By The Nation To The Great Duke Of Marlborough About The
Same Time.
Hartley Colliery, About Half A Mile Away, Has A Sad Interest As Being
The Scene Of The Terrible Accident In 1862, When A Number Of Men And
Boys Were Imprisoned In The Workings Owing To The Blocking Up Of The
Only Shaft By A Mass Of Débris, Caused By The Fall Of An Iron Beam
Belonging To The Pumping Engine At The Pit-Head. Before The Shaft Could
Be Cleared And A Way Opened To The Workings, All The Poor Fellows Had
Died, Overcome By The Deadly "Choke-Damp." Joseph Skipsey, The Pitman
Poet, In A Simple Ballad, Tells The Pathetic Story.
"Oh, Father! Till The Shaft Is Rid,
Close, Close Beside Me Keep;
My Eyelids Are Together Glued,
And I,--And I,--Must Sleep."
"Sleep, Darling, Sleep, And I Will Keep
Close By--Heigh Ho."--To Keep
Himself Awake The Father Strives.
But He--He, Too--Must Sleep.
"Oh Mother Dear! Wert, Wert Thou Near
Whilst--Sleep!" The Orphan Slept;
And All Night Long, By The Black Pit-Heap
The Mother A Dumb Watch Kept.
From Here, Northward, The Coast Is Rather Dull And Uninteresting,
Although The Sands Are Fine, Until We Reach Blyth, At The Mouth Of The
Little River Of The Same Name. This Town Is Growing Rapidly In Size And
Importance; The Export Of Coal Has Greatly Increased Since The Harbour
Was So Much Improved By Sir Matthew White Ridley, And Now Totals Some
Millions Of Tones A Year. The River Wansbeck Not Far North Of The Mouth
Of The Blyth, In The Latter Part Of Its Course Flows Through A District
Begrimed By All The Necessary Accompaniments Of The Traffic In "Black
Diamonds," And Reaches The Sea Between The Colliery Villages Of Cambois
And North Seaton.
On The Point At The Northern Curve Of Newbiggin Bay Stands Newbiggin
Church, And Ancient Building, Whose Steeple, "Leaning All Awry," Is A
Well-Known Landmark For Sailors. The Site Of This Church Is In Danger
Of Being Undermined By The Waves, And, Indeed, Part Of The Churchyard
Crumbled Away Many Years Ago; But Such Defences As Are Possible Have
Been Built Up Around It,--And The Danger Averted For A Time. Newbiggin
Itself Is A Large Fishing Village And An Increasingly Popular Holiday
Resort, For It Possesses Not Only Good Sands But A Wide Moor Near At
Hand Which Provides One Of The Best Of Golf Courses; And, Also, A Short
Distance Along The Coast, Are The Attractive Fairy Rocks.
Newbiggin Was A Town Of Some Importance In Plantagenet Days, With A Busy
Harbour, And A Pier; And In The Reign Of Edward Ii. It Was Required To
Contribute A Vessel Towards The Naval Defence Of The Kingdom.
Northward From Newbiggin Point Is The Magnificent Sweep Of Druridge Bay,
Stretching In A Fine Curve Of Ten Miles Or More To Hauxley Haven. Here,
The Sands Of A Warm Golden Colour, The Wind-Swept Bents Of Silvery-Grey,
And The Vivid Green Of The Grassy Cliff Tops Edge The Curve Of The Bay
With A Line Of Bright And Delicate Colour, Only Thrown Into Greater
Relief By The Brown Reefs And Ridges Which Stretch Out From The Rocky
Shores, And By The Deep Blue-Green Of The Waves Rolling Inshore In Long
Majestic Lines, To Break Into Hissing Foam On The Sharp Reefs, Or Slide
Smoothly Up The Yellow Sands In The Centre Of The Bay. Above, Beyond The
Grassy Tops Of The Cliffs, Stretch Deep Woods, With The Old Pele-Tower
Of Cresswell Looking Out From Amongst The Trees, Fields Many-Coloured
With Their Burden Of Varying Crops, And Wide Lonely Moors, Where One May
Walk For Half A Day Without Hearing Any Sound Save The Wild Screaming Of
Sea-Birds, Or The Whistle Of The Wind, With The Low Boom Of The Waves
Below Sounding A Deep-Toned Accompaniment. The Bay Is Not Always So
Peaceful, However, And Many Wild Scenes And Terrible Shipwrecks Have
Taken Place Here, As Everywhere Along Our Wild North-East Coast. The
Bondicar Rocks, By Hauxley, And The Cruel Spikes Of The Reef At Snab
Point, Near Cresswell, Have Betrayed Many A Gallant Little Vessel To Her
Doom. Not, However, Without Bringing On Many An Occasion Proof Of The
Courage Which Is Shown As A Matter Of Course By The Fisher Folk On Our
Coasts. At Newbiggin, And Cresswell, For Instance, Deeds Have Been Done,
Which, In Their Simple Unassuming Heroism, May Be Taken As Typical Of
The Hardy Race Which Could Count Grace Darling Among Its Daughters.
About Thirty Years Ago, A Ship Drove Ashore Off Cresswell One Bitter
Night In January, And The Fisher Folk Crowded Down To The Shore,
Watching With Sorrowful Eyes The Hapless Crew Clinging To Their
Unfortunate Vessel, Which Was Slowly Being Broken Up By The Waves. There
Was No Lifeboat At Cresswell Then, And All The Men Of The Village,
Except The Old Men Who Were Past Work, Had Gone Northward, When The
Oncoming Storm Prevented Their Return. The Women And Girls Heard The
Cries Of The Schooner's Crew, And Mourned To Each Other Their Inability
To Help. But One Gallant-Hearted Girl, Named Peggy Brown, Cried Out, "If
I Thowt She Could Hing On A Bit, I Wad Be Away For The Lifeboat." But
Between Them And Newbiggin, The Nearest Lifeboat Station, The Lyne Burn
Runs Into The Sea, And Spreads Widely Out Over The Sands; And The Older
People Told Peggy She Could Never Cross The Burn In The Dark. She Set
Off, However, The Thought Of The Drowning Men Hastening Her On. For Four
Miles She Made Her Way In The Storm And Darkness, Partly Along The
Shore, Scrambling Over Rock's, And Wading Waist-Deep Through The Lyne
Burn And One Or Two Other Places Where The Waves Had Driven Far Up The
Sands, And Partly Across Newbiggin Moor, Where The Icy Wind Tore At Her
In Her Drenched Clothing. She Pressed On, However, And Managed To Reach
The Coxswain's House And Give Her Message. The Lifeboat Was Immediately
Run Out, And The Men Reached The Wreck In Time To Save All The Crew
Except One, Who Had Been Washed Overboard.
On Another Occasion One Of The Fishermen, Named Tom Brown, Was Preparing
To Go Out, With The Help Of His Two Sons, In His Own Fishing Coble To
The Aid Of A Ship In Distress On The Reef. A Carter Had Come Down To The
Beach, The Better To Watch The Progress Of Events, And, Terrified By The
Thundering Waves, His Horse Took Fright, And In Its Plunging Drove The
Cart Against The Little Boat, Making A Hole Clear Through One Side. "Big
Tom," As He Was Generally Called, Merely Took Off His Coat, Rolled It
Into A Bundle And Stuffed It Against The Hole. Then He Beckoned To
Another Fisherman, Saying To Him "Sit On That." The Man Clambered In,
And Without The Loss Of Another Minute These Four Heroes Set Off To Save
Their Fellow Creatures' Lives, With A Broken And Leaking Boat In A Heavy
Sea. And They Did It, Reaching The Brig Only Just In Time, For It Went
To Pieces A Few Minutes After The Shivering Crew Had Been Safely Landed.
Incidents Like These, Which Could Be Multiplied Indefinitely, Bring A
Glow Of Pride To The Heart, And A Reassuring Sense That The Degeneration
Of The Race Is Not Proceeding In Such Wholesale Fashion--In The Country
Districts, At Any Rate--As The Pessimists Would Have Us Believe.
At The Northern Extremity Of Druridge Bay Is The Little Fishing Village
Of Hauxley, With The Chimneys And Pit-Head Engines Of Ratcliffe And
Broomhill Collieries Darkening The Sky To The South-West. Passing The
Bondicar Rocks And Rounding The Point We Enter The "Fairway" For
Warkworth Harbour And Amble, Where A Brisk Exportation Of The Coal Of
The Neighbourhood Is Carried On.
Lying Out At Sea, Opposite Amble Coastguard Station, The White
Lighthouse On Coquet Island Keeps Watch Over The Entrance To The
Harbour. Some Of The Walls Of The Monastery, Which Stood On The Island
In Saxon Days, Can Now Be Seen Forming Part Of The Dwelling Of The
Lighthouse Keeper. For Many Generations, Too, Hermit After Hermit Went
To Dwell On This Tiny Islet, And St. Cuthbert Himself Is Said To Have
Inhabited The Little Cell At One Time. The Island Was Captured By The
Scots In The Civil Wars Of King Charles's Reign, And Held By Them For A
Time.
The Situation Of Amble, At The Mouth Of The Coquet, Has Been Looked Upon
As Convenient From Very Early Days, For There Are Signs Which Tell Us Of
A Population Here At An Early Period. Several Cist-Vaens, Or Ancient
Stone Coffins, Have Been Found Near The Town, And A Broken Roman Altar
Was Unearthed In The Neighbourhood. The Monastery Which Stood Here, Like
That On Holy Island, Was, In Later Times, Inhabited By Benedictine
Monks, Who Were Under The Authority Of The Prior Of Tynemouth. William
The Conqueror Gave The Then Prior The Right To Collect The Tithes Of The
Little Town.
A Short Distance From Amble, And Practically Encircled By The Coquet
Which Here Makes A Wide Sweep, We Come Upon Warkworth, Prettiest Of
Villages, Combining The Beauties Of Sea-Shore And River Scenery, And
Rich In The Possession Of That Romantic Castle, The Ruins Of Which Carry
The Mind Back To Saxon Times; For They Stand On The Site Of An Older
Fortress Erected By Ceolwulf, A Saxon King Of Northumbria. He Was The
Patron Of Bede, Who Dedicated His "Ecclesiastical History" To His Royal
Friend. Ceolwulf Built Both The Fortress And The Earliest Church At
Warkworth, And A Few Stones Of This Latter Building Are Still To Be
Seen. In 737, Two Years After The Death Of Bede, This Royal Saxon Laid
Aside His Kingly State And Became A Monk On Lindisfarne,
"When He, For Cowl And Beads, Laid Down
The Saxon Battle-Axe And Crown."
It Was When The Castle Was Bestowed By Edward Iii. Upon Lord Percy Of
Alnwick That It Became, For More Than Two Hundred Years, The Chief
Residence Of That Illustrious Family; Becoming In The Next Reign Of
Historical Value As The Home Of That Hotspur Whose Valour And Gallantry
Made Henry Iv. Envy The Earl Of Northumberland, In That He "Should Be
The Father Of So Blest A Son." In Act Ii., Scene 3 Of "Henry Iv.," Part
Ii., Shakespeare Has Laid The Scene At Warkworth Castle, Where Hotspur's
Wife, Troubled By Her Lord's Moody Abstraction, Tries To Win From Him
The Reason Of His Secret Care. And After The Battle Of Shrewsbury,
Rumour, Flying With The News Of Hotspur's Death, Says:--
"Thus Have I Rumoured Through The Peasant Towns,
Between The Royal Field Of Shrewsbury
And This Worm-Eaten Hold Of Ragged Stone,
Where Hotspur's Father, Old Northumberland,
Lies Crafty-Sick."
Two Years After This, The Castle Was Besieged By Henry Iv. Himself, And
Surrendered To Him After A Brief Bombardment By The Newly Invented
Cannon. The Keep Was Re-Built By Hotspur's Son, After The Family
Possessions Had Been Restored To Him By Henry V., And It Is Now The Only
Remaining Part Of The Castle Which Is Almost Perfect. One Of The
Half-Ruinous Towers Remaining Is Called The Lion Tower, From The
Sculptured Lion On Its Walls; While Another Rejoices In The Curious Name
Of Cradyfargus. A Strange Story Is Told Of A Blue Stone To Be Seen In
The Courtyard Of The Castle. Many Years Ago, So Runs The Tale, One Of
The Custodians Of Warkworth Castle Dreamed Three Nights In Succession
That A Large Treasure Was Concealed Beneath A Blue Stone In A Certain
Part Of The Castle Grounds. He Told This Dream To A Neighbour, And After
Allowing Two Or Three Days To Pass, Finding The Dream Constantly
Recurring To His Mind, He Thought He Would Go To The Place Indicated,
And See What He Could Find. To His Disappointment, However, He
Discovered That Some One Had Been There Before Him; A Large Hole Had
Been Dug, And On The Edge Of It Lay The Blue Stone.
Needless To Say, The Hole Was Empty, Nor Could The Keeper Discover
Anything About The Treasure In The Neighbourhood. It Is Said That A
Certain Family In The Village Became Suddenly Rich; And, Many Years
Afterwards, A Large And Ancient Pot, Supposed To Have Been That In Which
The Buried Treasure Had Been Contained, Was Found In The Coquet.
The Main Street Of Warkworth Leads Straight Up To The Postern Gate Of
The Castle, And Many Stirring Sights Have The Successive Inhabitants Of
The Little Village Looked Upon, As The Fortunes Of The Owners Of The
Castle Waxed And Waned Throughout The Many Centuries In Which The Lords
Of Warkworth
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