Marsden: Canals, Comedy, Packhorses and Revolutionaries

Marsden, situated at the top of the Colne Valley, nestles into the millstone grit of the Pennine hills.  It is the gateway to open spaces and beautiful moor land scenery, home to curlews and rare twites.  It is also the last town in the West Riding before crossing into Lancashire.

The Romans passed this way building a road between York and Chester in AD 79. From medieval times onwards, Marsden was the natural crossing point for travellers, merchants and goods as they travelled from east to west.  It became the home for mill masters and revolutionaries.   Just eight miles from Huddersfield along the A62, Marsden boasts ancient tracks and pathways, turnpike roads, the Huddersfield Narrow Canal and it lies at the heart of Last of the Summer Wine Country.

The canal arrived at Tunnel End in 1804 but then the navvies faced the task of crossing the Pennines.  The canal tunnel took seventeen years to complete.  Engineered by Thomas Telford, it is the highest, longest at 3.2 miles and deepest in the country. 

Since 2001, the Huddersfield Canal Society have lovingly restored the waterway and turned it into a haven for wildlife, anglers and for visitors.  On the first Saturday of each month, this stretch of water is alive with people daring to take the thirty-minute glass topped boat ride inside the heart of the tunnel to find out more about its history and the men who dug it.  Volunteers make sure that everything runs smoothly including the five-minute ride on the little blue canal taxi that chugs up and down between Standedge and Lock 42.  

Marsden boasts not one but two packhorse bridges built specifically to allow winding caravans of merchandise and supplies across the river.  Mellor Bridge straddles the river opposite Marsden's church.

Packhorses and weary folk trudged along centuries old trails that radiated out from Marsden until 1759 when Blind Jack Metcalfe of Knaresburgh built a turnpike road that followed a more direct route. Bundles of heather were laid on the boggy ground. The road was built on top of this. The turnpike was the name for a gate lowered across the road to ensure that travellers using it paid their toll. Part of Blind Jack’s road survives today as Old Mount Road.  Unsurprisingly, given its strategic location, Marsden had not one but three turnpikes.  Each one was designed to improve on the one that came before.  The A62 follows the line of the last turnpike road. Travelling across the Pennines in times past sounds rather a hazardous, not to mention gruelling business.  Even today, during bad winter weather, the road may be closed.

There is a soot and lichen darkened memorial on the village green, the site of the original church, not far from the packhorse bridge, that links Marsden with revolution, riot and murder.  The tomb belongs Enoch and James Taylor.  The Taylor brothers are closely associated with the story of the Luddites.  These days ‘Luddite’ is a term to describe a technophobe.  At the turn of the nineteenth century when the Napoleonic Wars were at their height, the Luddites were regarded as dangerous revolutionaries who wanted to topple English society. The story is much more complicated than that though.  The industrial revolution was coming to the cloth industry, food prices were spiralling and wages diminishing. 

In the past skilled workers called croppers worked finished woollen cloth using enormous hand-held shears.  By 1812, croppers were being replaced by a new technology- the cropping frame. It did the work more quickly and did not require the same numbers of men to operate it.  The workers, fearing for their jobs, their homes and the lives of their families petitioned the government of the time for help.  Finally, seeing no alternative croppers banded together and smashed the machines that were destroying their livelihoods.  They worked under the leadership of the mysterious General Ludd.  

And the Taylors? The Taylor brothers were blacksmiths.  Their forges made both the machines and the huge iron hammers that the Luddites used to break them.  A popular joke at the time was ‘Enoch made them, Enoch breaks them’.  Strangely, the Luddites never targeted the Taylor brothers- possibly because they were republican sympathisers.  Instead, they focused their anger on the masters who put them out of work and left their children to starve. 

William Horsfall of Marsden owned Ottiwells Mill employing some four hundred men, women and children.  He had no sympathy for the Luddites or for the plight of his workers.  He was deeply unpopular because of his outspoken desire to put down the Luddite unrest with whatever force necessary.  Perhaps it is not surprising that the authorities stationed both infantry and cavalry in Marsden to deal with any trouble.  It did not save Horsfall.  He was killed on his way home from Huddersfield one market day in April 1812.  Today his mill is gone as are the forges where the Taylor brothers made the machines that did the work of five men. 

This picturesque town is often alive with wonderful entertainment.  There's a jazz festival each October attracting musicians and visitors a plenty.  Imbolc, a winter festival of swirling fire and colour held to celebrate the Green Man (spring) triumphing over Jack Frost, occurs in the New Year. It’s guaranteed to chase the winter blues on their way.  Then there’s Marsden Cuckoo Day in April with its clog dancing, music and cuckoo walk. 

Now, there’s an event that sounds as if it came straight out of a script for a situation comedy. The people of Marsden, so the story goes, noticed that when the cuckoo arrived so did spring.  Spring brings with it better weather. After a long Pennine winter people were keen for the sun to linger a while longer.  They concluded that since the cuckoo appeared to be responsible for bringing spring that the best course of action was to build a wall around the cuckoo to prevent it from leaving.  The cuckoo, as most birds are wont to do, flew away but not before the wall was virtually complete.   

  

Hartshead Church, Luddites, Patrick Bronte and Robin Hood

A wet day in October - autumn has well and truly arrived.  Hartshead lies between Brighouse and Mirfield.  The map was unhelpful, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.  Either that or all roads lead to Robert Town.

Hartshead Church is best known these days as one of Patrick Bronte's curacies.  He lived in the farm across the way from the church during his time here and it was during his stay that the Luddites' protest about the loss of their jobs to mechanisation became violent. 

Their attack on Rawfolds Mill in April 1812 led to the deaths of some of the protesters.  The funerals for the men who were left at Rawfolds or who died after capture were highly publicised but it is also believed that some badly injured men escaped from the mill and died elsewhere.  These men were buried quietly in Hartshead Churchyard according to legend and according to Patrick Bronte. 

They aren't the only mysterious burials in the churchyard.  There is a medieval slab near the door that allegedly belongs to Robin Hood, though this is clearly a matter of some argument.   More real is the trunk of the ancient yew tree in the middle of the church yard, the stocks across the road and the twelfth century tower.  Much of the church was rebuilt in 1881 but the South door is also Norman in origin

The Dumb Steeple and the Luddites

The busy roundabout where the A62 and A644 meet just outside Huddersfield is an unusual stoppoing spot - and actually you can't.  The nearest car park belongs to The Three Nuns Pub just up the road, so we had an ideal excuse to stop for lunch.  There's been a pub on the site of the Three Nuns since the fifteenth century.  The current building has been there since the nineteenth century.  The name comes from the fact that it stands inside the grounds of Kirklees Priory where Robin Hood is said to have been buried.  There's more to find out about Kirklees Priory in nearby Mirfield.  It's on my list of places to explore.

But back to the Dumb Steeple.  Its easy to miss it if you don't know that its there and no one is really clear as to what its doing where it is.  One theory says that it marks the spot where wanted men could claim sanctuary from the law for forty days and forty nights.  If that is the case then Dumb Steeple is a corruption of Doom Steeple.  History suggests that this isn't the case. Another theory says that it was a marker to show the way to a nearby ford; yet another theory declares that it replaced an ancient megalith.

The dumb steeple's real history dates from  April1812 when the Luddites, disgruntled croppers who were losing their livelihoods to the new cropping machines, met in the fields behind the dumb steeple. Croppers were important workers in the manufacture of finished cloth.  Once the weavers had created the cloth, the croppers used enormous shears to finish it and to raise the nap.  Their trade was a highly skilled one which commanded good wages until the advent of a machine that could do the work of many men. 

In a bid to prevent the loss of their jobs they began to destroy the machines.  On the 11th April 1812 a group of Luddites met at the dumb steeple before marching on Rawfolds Mill near Cleckheaton.  The owner of Rawfolds was prepared and there was a pitched battle.  For a while the authorities feared that Huddersfield and Halifax were fermenting rebellion.  There were more soldiers in the north than Wellington had in the Peninsula Campaign. 

Cars thunder by, their occupants look slightly bewildered at the sight of me with my camera.  Clearly they have no idea of the momentous events that took place here two hundred years ago.

Wakefield

It's been a while but hopefully I'm back on track now- the plan to walk more suffered during the rather damp summer. 

Wakefield, the administrative centre for the West Riding, became a city in 1888 which meant that its parish church became a cathedral.   It's a small but perfectly formed building filled with angels .  It also has the tallest spire in Yorkshire.  It's 247 ft (49m) high. It's a useful tool to help pedestrians find their bearings if they get lost. I enjoyed finding the medieval carvings of animals and green men.  The striking rood screen with its crouching hare carving dates from the seventeenth century.  The cathedral was an excellent reason for revisiting Wakefield but although its shopping centre is being redeveloped it currently isn't a shopper's paradise. 

I paused for a while to enjoy the modern fountain outside the tourist information office then set off to find the Hepworth Art Gallery.  The building wasn't quite what I was expecting -  but then what do I know about modern architecture?  The interior more than lived up to expectations.  There's over 1,600 square metres of exhibition space making it the largest purpose built art space outside London - and its in Wakefield!  The reason, well, Dame Barbara Hepworth was born in Wakefield.

Rotherham, town of foundries and peanuts.

I've been going to Rotherham every week for the past year- for work rather than pleasure I should add.  Its not really the kind of place that you take a camera even though one of the roundabouts on the ring road proclaims that Rotherham is the home of a well known peanut packager.  Most of Rotherham town centre with the exception of the church, parts of the F.E college and a tiny fifteenth century chantry is modern.  At the moment the church is hidden by scaffolding and the chantry is lost in a sea of concrete.  In fact it took me a while to find it even though I'd walked straight by it often enough without really ever noticing it.  I find myself wondering how much air raids of World War Two are to blame and how much modern town planners are responsible for Rotherham's current look.  Having said that it takes on a totally different character on a sunny Tuesday in the summer when the street market fills the middle of Rotherham with yellow and green awnings and tempting smells.

Arthur Mee describing the town in 1941 said that 'it is busy with collieries, a huge electric power station, and great iron, steel and brass foundries.'  Times have changed for Rotherham with many of its high street buildings closed down or occupied by charity shops - the victims of out of town shopping centres.  These days Rotherham is better known for Jamie Oliver's series about teaching people to cook. 

I'll miss the factory shops with their bargain prices and some of the charity shops sell wonderful books at even better prices.  Its certainly a place to bag a bargain on occasion. I'll miss the people that I worked with for so long too but I won't miss the journey, the town centre or the cost of parking.

York- Stonegate

There's something about York that makes it one of my most favourite cities in the UK- along with Carlisle.  Breakfast in York is something to look forward to as well.  If you're pushing the boat out then there's always Betty's Tearoom with its Art Deco refinement, tinkling ivories and old fashioned service.  And that's before I get as far as actually tucking in to my full Yorkshire breakfast.  Of course, there's history here.  Go down stairs to the basement and you'll find a mirror covered with signatures and emblems.  This is a memorial to the flying crews based around York who came here while they were off duty.  It's easy to loose track of time as you study the names and yourself- it is a mirror after all.

Then its on for a spot of shopping.  St Helen's Square is the lynch pin between old York and the modern shopping centre.  Before the Eighteenth Century it used to be a grave yard but when the new Lord Mayor's mansion was built it was decided that perhaps a mansion with a view of a graveyard wasn't really what the mayor needed.  Recent additions to the grave yard were relocated down Davygate and the graveyard was paved over.  This knowledge has rather ruined my reading of a murder mystery series set in York.  The opening paragraph of the first book has the hero walking across the square.  The only problem is that he's about five centuries too early - or the square is about five centuries too late.  Either way I have difficulty suspending reality after that.  Does anybody else have those kind of problems when they read historical fiction?

Head up Stonegate towards the Minster.  Today its full of designer boutiques, galleries and antique shops.  By mid morning you can hardly move for shoppers and tourists but if you arrive early enough you can enjoy a spot of window shopping and take in the history as well.  Stonegate was the Via Principalis- the main road to the Roman army headquarters- buried beneath the Minster these days.  Its shop fronts echo the Viking shop fronts from Jorvik and if you follow the little alleyways and snickleways you'll find yourself travelling back in time to Medieval York and Eighteenth Century coffee houses.  But if you haven't got time there's always York's little Red Devil chained to his post- a reminder of the printers devil's who used to run with hot print to the presses that filled theses shops.  Lawrence Sterne's Tristam Shandy was published here.  There's a ship's figurehead- slightly dented but a reminder of the tea trade, a medieval Bishop's palace masquerading as a china shop and a royal coat of arms as well as one of York's oldest inns named after Charles I.  He made York his capital for a while.  Though fortunately for York he went to Nottingham before raising his standard and kicking off the English Civil War.  Nottingham paid a heavy price.  York was fortunate in other ways as well.  Thomas, Lord Fairfax, a Parliamentarian who laid siege to this city was a Yorkshireman and ensured no harm came to the city or its wonderful collection of medieval stained glass.

Towton and The Crooked Billet

The weather forecast promised rain but we took a chance on the  battleship grey clouds that plunged across threatening skies.  True to form the skies opened as we joined the motorway and we found ourselves wondering whether we’d made a mistake.  We had a seven mile walk around the site of the Battle of Towton planned after all.

According to some accounts the Lancastrians mustered 30,000 men for this battle although there is now some dispute about the figures.  One thing is certain the Yorkist army was significantly smaller than the Lancastrians drawn up on the ridge above Towton, their right flank protected by the River Cock.  And it was the Lancastrians who chose the battle ground. 

The previous day, the Battle of Ferrybridge had enabled Edward of York to cross the River Aire.  It had also seen the death of Lord Clifford, the man who had killed his twelve year old brother some three months previously. The Yorkist army had to march north before making camp for the night.

It was blustery but not raining when  we arrived in the village of Saxton where we were to start our walk. At least it wasn't snowing like it was in 1461- not ideal conditions for a battle.  In fact it was the snow that probably gave the Yorkists their victory in the end. 

We found Saxton Church and parked.  Then we set off along a country lane lined with hawthorn, in the direction of Towton.  It's odd too how much more noticeable the hills are when you have to walk up them rather than sitting in the comfort of a car.   I wouldn't have fancied a forced march from Ferrybridge- the powerstation dominated the skyline behind me- followed by a night in the cold, finished off by a savage battle that lasted through the hours of daylight.  To be honest I wasn't sure about the seven miles I was just setting off on.

Much to our delight as we joined the road to Towton we spotted a noticeboard and discovered a path.  Further investigation revealed a newly created battlefield walk set up in conjunction with the Royal Armories at Leeds.  Thankfully this walk takes visitors around the battlefield rather than walking along the roadside. Before long we had spotted Lord Dacre's Cross set up in 1928 as a memorial to the battle.  He wasn’t killed at this spot though.  The unfortunate Lancastrian was shot by a boy near an elder tree on the other side of the road. 

According to local folklore, the roses that grow in the hedgerows hereabouts take their colour from a mingling of the red and white rose blood  that was shed that cold Palm Sunday in March.  In fact one of the fields is still known as the ‘Field of the Red and the White Roses.’

The battle started in a blizzard. Yorkist archers sent their arrows deep into the Lancastrian ranks. The wind was against the Lancastrians. Their arrows failed to reach the massed ranks of the Yorkists and in the driving snow they couldn’t even see their enemy.  The Lancastrians had no choice. They advanced down the hill.  For a while it looked as though they would win.  They had superior numbers after all.  

Bloody Meadow

The meadow above the River Cock is still known as 'Bloody Meadow' due to the savage hand to hand fighting that stained the snow red.  When the Lancastrians finally withdrew they found themselves trapped on the wrong side of the River Cock.  The gentle stream of today was a raging torrent  at the time of the battle, carrying winter rains and melted snow. It was impossible for exhausted men or those weighed down in armour to cross the water.  Their woes were compounded by the arrival of Yorkist reinforcements led by the Duke of Norfolk.

Fleeing Lancastrians were finally able to get across the river over the piled up bodies of their comrades. 

The bitterness behind this battle saw the Yorkists summarily execute foot soldiers and nobles alike.  There was no question of being magnanimous in victory.  Despite the killing that continued virtually up to the gates of York itself, Henry VI and his family were able to escape to Scotland.  The civil war was not yet over. Edward of York, now styling himself King Edward IV, was not safe on his throne. The peasants who owed their loyalty to the warring lords were not free from the fear of being called to do battle whether they wanted to or not.

We continued around a field filled with sighing wheat into Towton and then back to Saxton.  There are grave pits on the north side of the church there for some of the 28,000 men said to have been killed that day.  We didn't stop as it was starting to rain again but we did catch a glimpse of Lord Dacre of Gilsland's tomb.  According to the very informative guide published by the Towton Battlefield Society, Lord Dacre was buried upright on his horse and this was apparently confirmed during the nineteenth century. There is also a modern memorial to the men who perished in this chilly part of Yorkshire all those years ago.

Then it was back to The Crooked Billet for a very enjoyable late lunch.  The guidebooks  say that this pub may well be on the site of an earlier inn, which served as the Yorkist headquarters.

It didn't seem to take so long going home as it did to arrive.  May be its the anticipation or not knowing your destination that makes the outwards journey seem longer.  Or perhaps its the anonanymity of the motorway network.  Whatever the reason, next time you’re on the M62 and pass junction 43 give a thought to one of the bloodiest battles ever fought on English soil.