Legends of Longdendale

by Thomas Middleton

There is no record to say whether the men of Longdendale ever rode north to join in expeditions across the Scottish border; but it is chronicled that “bold moss-troopers from the border-side” occasionally raided as far south as the rich country of the Longdendale valley. These Scotchmen usually came in strong and well-armed bands, consisting of picked fighting-men, and, oftener than not, led by some distinguished lord or knight who wished to reap fresh honour by reddening his blade in English blood. Sometimes the lord or knight looked upon it as a fair (and certainly the easiest and cheapest) way of securing a wife, or mayhap a mistress, together with a good fat dowry in the shape of plunder. None can blame him for holding such views, for it all came in the manner of living in the olden time.

But it did not always happen that the raiders were successful. Sometimes the “raided” were on the look out, and the surprise party themselves met with a surprise.

It was a bright morning in the summer, and the valley of Longdendale had never looked more beautiful than it did that morning when Jock, the steward’s son, kissed his sweetheart at the end of the lane ere he entered the woods to join his father’s men, who had some work to do in the forest. A fine lad was Jock, merry and free as becomes one whose life is mostly spent in the greenwood: his limbs were finely made, he was straight and strong, and there were none in all the country-side who could run, fence, or box like he, or who could shoot straighter or further with the bow. A right proper lad, such as an English maiden loves. His father was steward to the Lord of Mottram, and to that position young Jock looked one day to succeed. In the meantime he discharged such tasks as were set him with diligence, and drank his fill of happiness with that bonny yeoman’s daughter, Bess Andrew. Bess knew his habits and his times of departure and homecoming right well, and thus the two found many a chance to bill and coo throughout the day.

It was with a light heart that Jock sped through the lanes when he had taken leave of Bess; and with a heart as buoyant, sweet Bess returned to the homestead when the parting was over. The maid sang a snatch of a country song as she entered the farmyard and set about her tasks, wondering whether her mother had missed her during the few moments she had been absent in the lane.

BESS ANDREW.

But Goody Andrew, the farmer’s wife, was busy in the kitchen, and the farmer himself was away in the fields. His lands were broad, and on this merry morn he was busy at a distance. So Bess had the farmyard to herself save for the presence of the children, her brothers and sisters, all younger than herself.

Bess busied herself with the milking-cans for some time, dreaming, as sweet maids will, of love and hope and the life that is to be. Suddenly she started, then bent her head to listen. On the wind came the sound of horses’ tread, and the jingling of harness; the sound increased in volume, and it came from the lane which led to the farm. Bess left her work, and moved to the gate. Then she screamed and turned to fly to the steading. For, all gay and boldly, armed to the teeth, came galloping into the farmyard a band of fierce moss-troopers, having at their head a tall big-limbed laird, from the Lowlands over the border.

“The raiders,” screamed Bess, as she hurried towards the house. “God ’a mercy on us.”

But she never reached the door, for the leader of the band rode to her side, and with a laugh leaned down, seized her in a strong grip, and swung her to the saddle before him.