“There ne'er was ane drowned in Tarras,
Nor yet in doubt,
For ere his head could win down,
His brains would be out.”
Many years ago, a young miner, who was courting the daughter of a blacksmith who resided at the mines, got into this beck one dark night when it was heavily flooded, and his body was found about a quarter of a mile below this bridge frightfully mangled. At the farther end of the bridge stands the post-office, and, leaving it to your right, you may ramble away down the road by Low Houses, Wraysdale Cottage, and Gateside, and then you come to Mount Cottage, where you must stay to inspect Mr Barrow's flower-garden, conservatory, shell grotto, grotesquely sculptured stones, of which nature was the artist, and, above all, his collection of busts, clerical, phrenological, general and diabolical.
“WHITTLE-GATE.”
Immediately beyond Mount Cottage is a stile where a foot-path leading to the Hall commences. It is called “Priest’s Stile,” and I have heard two accounts of the origin of its appellation. First, it is said to be so called, because a former Incumbent of Conistone died suddenly whilst crossing it. I prefer the second derivation of the name, because it affords an opportunity of mentioning a curious ancient custom, as well as reason good for congratulating ourselves and our clergy upon the progress of social improvement. In former times, the minister of Conistone, who was also the parochial schoolmaster, had no fixed home of his own, but held rights of “Whittlegate” over his chapelry; which signifies that he was lodged and fed by the different householders, each in turn, for longer or shorter periods, according to the value of the several tenements. Conistone Hall being by far the largest property in the chapelry, was favoured with the poor clergyman’s company, and had the benefit of his “whittle” much more frequently than any other residence, and consequently, on his way to and from church and school, the Priest very often was seen using this stile, and thence arose its name. The custom of “Whittlegate” is now all but obsolete, and, I believe, exists only at Wastdale-head, where, I understand, the schoolmaster is still supported on that uncomfortable system.
A LONG LINK.
Rising a short ascent called, no one knows why, Doe How, you soon reach another cluster of dwellings, named Bowmanstead, the most prominent amongst which are the Baptists’ Chapel and the Ship Inn; and beyond them, a row of houses which had its name from a somewhat odd incident. There was formerly an open ditch, called locally a syke, across the road here; and once the funeral array of a man named Jenkin, on the way to Ulverstone, then the only place of interment for this part of the parish, had got near to Torver, when the mourners discovered that the coffin had slipped, unobserved, from the “sled” it was carried upon, and, deeming it unseemly to proceed without it, they returned, and found it here in the syke, whence the spot is called “Jenkin Syke” to this day.
You saunter on past the Corn-mill and cottages around it, and down a short declivity to Hause Bank. An intelligent villager, who has resided at Hause Bank during the whole of a long life, tells me that the ancient cottage adjoining the smith’s shop was formerly an ale-house, and that a neighbour, who died at a great age, when my informant was a boy, used to relate that he remembered having seen two brothers of the Fleming family who were staying at the Hall, go in there for ale, and make a scramble with their change amongst the children round the door, of whom the relater was one. The names of the brothers, he stated, were “Major and Roger.” This reminiscence is remarkable, and worthy of record, because, supposing my calculations to be correct, it connects, by a single life, an individual of our own time with an officer who fought under the great Duke of Marlborough, and was the son of a gentleman who was obnoxious to Cromwell’s sequestrators, having to pay, during the time of the Commonwealth, a large annual fine for his loyalty. My authority is a condensed history of the Fleming family, on referring to which I find that “Michael, the sixth son of Sir Daniel Fleming, was Major in the regiment commanded by the Hon. Col. Stanley, afterwards Earl of Derby, was in most of the sieges and battles in Flanders during the reigns of King William and Queen Anne, and was returned to Parliament for Westmorland in 1706.” I fancy he would be great-grandfather to the estimable lady who now holds the estates and honours of her ancient house. The other brother remembered by the old man would be, as I have reason to believe, Sir Daniel’s eighth son, Roger Fleming, who entered the church, and became Vicar of Brigham, a preferment enjoyed at the present day, not by a son of the Knight of Rydal Hall, but by a son of the Bard of Rydal Mount.