Swindale 1983
| "A fringe of hill country, full of charming scenery, full of
interesting story, which is far less known than it deserves. -(W. G. COLLINGWOOD, in " The Lake
Counties -).
|
||
SWINDALE is a wild romantic valley that lies "among our mountain fastnesses concealed." It is about four and a half miles by road from Shap, but only, three "as the crow flies," according to the country phrase. But how does the crow fly? Not always in a direct line like a carrier pigeon. There are now only three occupied houses with a population of ten; namely, Swindale Head, Truss Gap and Swindale Foot. Fifty years ago there were eight habitations, and within living memory a dozen. A directory of 1844 gives the name of a resident bread baker, the schoolmaster and the incumbent, three very necessary personages, supplying food for the body, the mind and the soul! Some of the old houses are now in ruins, others are adapted for farm purposes. One of them, at Truss or Trees Gap, near the stepping-stones, acquired the nickname of "Starvation Cottage" from a painful tragedy which is being rapidly forgotten, the death from hunger and cold and neglect of two helpless old folks. It was commonly believed that the miserable couple, Dick and Betty, "cum't again." Dick Rawes had seen a white figure dart by him on the road near the house; however, he "telt nin" but his wife, and he could scarcely believe his own eyes, for he "sud think they'd hev gitten to a spot they'd hardly want to leave." Talebert, which lies midway between Keld and Swindale, with its two houses and six residents, making in my time with Mosedale a total of twenty four souls, is included in the chapelry. Often one felt inclined to grumble in the depth of winter or in the biting blasts of March at having to turn out from a hurried luncheon and walk so far to meet a congregation varying from four to ten, unless visitors in summer brought it to a score. But it was worth while, if only to receive a hearty greeting in those two homes. At Gill Head the lower house, lived Mary Winder, a right motherly body who brewed the best cup of tea in the whole parish. If you would not stay for tea you must obediently have a glass of hot grog. Shocking on the Sabbath, and very unclerical at any time, but most acceptable to anyone suffering from exposure or wet through to the skin. When in this sore plight, I fear I cannot charge my memory or my conscience with ever having refused either the whiskey or the cup that inebriates not. Shall I shock the " unco guid " if I confess to having occasionally received both at the hands of a parishioner who was my best communicant? But she is gone and Talebert looks a much colder place. For Dick also has departed. It was a struggle which would last the longer. "I'se gitten an auld man, but I'se gaan to outlive Mary, but we aw hev to dee." With a wonderful calmness and resignation do these dalesmen approach death. They Speak little, but they feel much, and perhaps they are sorriest to say good-bye to the hills and the fields and the stock. What an awful wrench it was for Tom Kitching at Measand to leave the lake on which he would fish no more nor again pull the boat! Their ideas of a future state are hazy, but they are full of faith and curious assurance. When Dick had some few months left of life, I remarked to him, (our talk was much in the vernacular), "Why, Dick, it's nut see a bad spot we mun gang to; thoo needn't be flate." "Nut I," he replied, "frae aw I've heard tell, it's a gay nice place." But the choicest idea of the heavenly mansions and the necessary qualifications for admission thereto is this from a bedridden septuagenarian in the workhouse, whom I was endeavouring to cheer up:--- Aye, whya, Mr. Whiteside, it hez allus been a kind o' supposed, if we nobbut behave oorsels a bit reasonable like, ther 'll be a laal spot o sum mak kept for us ower yonder." And they die very nicely in this frame of mind without our up-to-date details of the intermediate state. Swindale can boast the dignity of an independent benefice, but there are no defined boundaries to determine the jurisdiction of its incumbent. In a letter of November 25th, 1871, to the Reverend Joseph Brunskill, the Diocesan Registrar, Mr. G. G. Mounsey, says that he is not aware of the appropriation of any district to Swindale Chapel. He thinks there has been none. Sometimes townships, by common consent and without any precise or formal sub-division of the ancient parish, have come to be regarded as separate ecclesiastical districts. For rating purposes Swindale includes Talebert, Rasat, Mosedale, Naddle and Toathman, but the vicars of Shap have continued to regard the last four as being under their supervision.
The chapel is an unpretentious House of Prayer, "A small edifice, It is surrounded by a rough yard, which is not licensed for interments, and annexed to its western wall is the tiny staple topic at clippings and shepherds' meetings, or was commemorated in rough bardic rhymes at the dinner at that followed the wrestling for a fleece. Dick Rawes was a rare wrestler, but age gives place to youth. His last appearance in the ring was in 1883 at Chapel Hill. He and I came together in the semi-final, the undergraduate and the bearded veteran. But after circling round a bit he whispered a my ear-" 1 sal hev to lig down for t' first time; yer grippin mi auld back ower hard." And now alas! death has grassed him also in the final bout for all weights and ages. If I write much of Dick it is because he was a typical dale-header and a devoted friend. In the winter of 1901, when I expressed surprise that he still kept on the wall an almanack I had given him, wishing to shew his affection for the clergy he said, as he pointed to it and to a picture of the abbey presented by my father, "Nay, I mun keep them at any rate till I'se deed." In 1902, his last winter, he told me he "read a gay bit o' them texts, and ivvery neet efter I've said my prayer I say them words to mysel, 'Come unto Me all ye that labour and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.'" Rawes was born at Thorny Bank in Sleddale; later he lived eight years at Mosedale which was then much more lively with shepherds before the enclosure of the common. He remembered when no coals were used in Shap unless a few from Croglin or Stainmore, principally for limekilns. Then there was a "girt thrang o' people on t' Demmins cutting, turning and stacking peats. Two things always struck me about Dick. His house door was almost invariably wide open, even in mid-winter, and I never saw him with his hat off, except in the chapel. The habit might date from the time of open chimneys, when rain and draughts descended and other things dropped down. It was not always easy to ask questions, it was harder to get answers unless one got into the company of such as Dick Rawes of Tailbert, Dick was a host in himself, an encyclopaedia heppensis, stored with wonderous rememissencis. But even Dick was at fault, he knew so much and he rattled it off so fast. The palmy days of Swindale are numbered with the past. Gone are the houses and the yeomen, Fifty years ago the residents were mostly yeomen. Joseph Abbott, John Fell, Thomas Sewell and the Rev. Mr. Tincler were in 1849 the principal proprietors. Now, I believe, Lord Lonsdale has the entire valley except the incumbent's glebe. "One only master grasps the whole domain."offspring of hardy race, robust and rugged characters cast in manly mould. Will the chapel also die? As things go now, we can foresee the day when the whole dale will be one huge sheep farm, and posterity will wonder when they read how such a place was once so full of human life. Not less may be the regret of the " great cloud of witnesses" who endowed the school and built the sanctuary "to be perpetually a chapel for the inhabitants of Swindale."
The above was extracted from: "Shappe in Bygone Days." by Joseph Whiteside, 1904
The following pedigree has been created from a variety of sources.] |