Rawes.co.uk:borrowdale

LIFE IN BORROWDALE

The Rawes Quarry atop Castle Cragg

BORROWDALE
in the old Time
by Sarah Yewdale, 1768/9- 1869, Queen of Borrowdale, 1870.
Written in the old Lakeland dialect.

A charming story about life in Borrowdale south of Keswick. Lanty Rawes lived at Seatoller in this dale. He had leased the right to quarry on top of Castle Cragg but eventually the quarry was forced to close, due to the environmental damage caused to the Hill Fort. Lanty died of scarlot fever in 1810, aged 52, and his family moved to Keswick.
I found two different photostat copies of this little book amongst my archives, the poorer copy was used. The better photocopy with a translation had two missing pages. It is unfortunately not known who did the translation, which here follows the images.
Julian Rawes, Harvington, 2021.

NOTE: The original is in the Cumberland dialect and very difficult to understand. This may not be an exact translation.
BORROWDALE IN THE OLD TIME
As gathered from the conversation of the late Sarah Yudale, Queen of Borrowdale, who died February, 1869, in her 101st year.
Published by R Bailey, Keswick, 1875.
Page 3
Borrowdale in the old time.
Borrowdale has changed! It's nothing like the same spot. When I was young, there wasn't as much as a wheeled thing in the whole of Borrowdale; not that it mattered much, for there were no roads then, only for horses and people on foot. But now, they tell me, as many of 40 or 50 vehicles come up Borrowdale each day and most of them four—wheeled and with two horses.
They used to call us cuckoos when we went down to Keswick, but I'll tell you what, it's my opinion, if Keswick hadn't Borrowdale so handy, it would not be so well off. It's a fine show spot for them. No, we never had any want of cars, everybody rode, and all heavy loads, such as bundles of hay or corn, and sacks of meal, we managed to carry on the horses’ backs. We didn't need so many things from Keswick as they do now — there were no coals to bring, for folk burnt nothing but peat and sticks; and everybody lived off their own produce, and were clad with homespun cloth.
There wasn't a farmhouse that didn't work hard through
Page 4
all the long winter nights, with the whirring and burring of wool at the spinning wheels. Some, boys and girls, all as busy as weavers; and then, when the thread and the yarn was made, we would take it down to Keswick to old Willy Dawson, or old Bill Boo, or old Twentyman, and they'd weave it into fabric. It might be coarse garments, as you say, but it was good substantial stuff and kept you really warm in winter. A good woollen skirt and a short bed gown were the main dress that the ladies wear, with black knitted stockings and clogs. Yes, on Sundays, we would all be done up in our best and put on a slender shawl and were very particular about going to chapel.
There were some of the old statesmen who wouldn't have missed the service for anything. They used to meet in the chapel yard and have a very good time, and get all the news and maybe hear of a stray sheep or two. Mostly, though, their dogs would come with them. Old Harry Joss, whether it was blowing hard or not, he and his dog, Bog, would come all the way from the Wartemouth; and they did say — and I believe it to be true — that his dog came several Sundays to the chapel after his death, and laid on his grave until the service was over. If there was any scandal, or other public goings on in the Dale, it was customary, in those days, to make it known after folk had come out of the chapel. Maybe it wasn't right, but folk didn't think it so in those old times.
Page 5
Keswick market wasn't much of a market at all. Borrowdale folk used to gather over at the stake, and hire their servants and sell their goods at Hawkshead; but it was a long way and a rough road; not that they went more than two or three times in a year, and generally again at Christmas, to sell their goods and buy a lot of spices with the money, to bake their pies with; for Christmas was Christmas then; a time that folk in old times enjoyed more than they do now, and were all far more friendly one with another.
A week before Christmas everybody began to be busy and, for all that week, there was much activity, with killing of sheep and splitting of wood, and baking of pies, as never was seen. Then, on Christmas Eve — a great log was put on the back of the fire, and the barrel was tapped, all was tidied up, and the fiddler would come and a few good fellows with him, and if folk weren't going to bed, there would be a dance. It was a regular thing to brew in October for Christmas. Everybody did so, both rich and poor; and some brewed at the same time for the shearing, for when Christmas was once fairly set in we did nothing but feast and dance and play at cards until Candle Mass. In those days, we always had a fiddler in the Dale and there was never a feast that there wasn't a dance. What fun! One would really tire oneself out at such times — after such feasting and dancing till you would fall asleep the next day at work. But there were no
Page 6
jealousy or differences amongst us then; servants’ and statesmen’s sons and daughters were all alike, as well they might be.
I see you looking at my chimney; I can tell you I am proud of my chimney; there's only one or two left like it and once there was nothing else in the whole of Borrowdale. A farmer's house would look amiss without its great open chimney, filled right up to the back with hams, rashes of bacon and legs of mutton and a good long dresser on the far side of the house, with rows of bright pewter plates and dishes. No, there are no pewter plates now — not that they were used often in the old times, for mostly the frying pan was set in the middle of the table and we all helped ourselves.
Sometimes I think we were far more like the folk you read about in the scriptures in our manners and customs. Only the other day I was reading about Boaz, how he separated his corn by throwing it up again in the wind; and that was the way we used to do it, and many a fine frolic we had over it.
What weddings! Yes, yes, I dare say, a wedding in Borrowdale was something for the Keswick folk to talk about for about a month after. But all has changed now, I have been a maid for sixty years now. But as far back as I can remember, but I can remember well what days there used to be at weddings; to be sure everybody didn't have such days. Some would sneak off, as they do now, and get married, and never a dog would bark,
Page 7
and nobody would be the wiser until it was all over. But folk generally made a good day; there was maybe as many as twenty or thirty going over to the church on horseback, the bride sitting on the pillion behind her father, that's the man, you know, that was going to give her away at the church. It was a very cheerful sight to see them all going down the road in a long line, on a fine summer's morning. Coming back, there was such galloping and clattering, as you might have thought that the whole of Borrowdale had gone mad; for you see, it was thought a good thing to be first back from the church. There was Jack Bennet — Gentleman Jack as we called him — who had a mare called Kate, that nobody could beat, and many a time as Kate would come home first, and not always with anybody on her back.
After dinner was over, folk would come from all parts of the Dale and the bride sat on a chair on the porch, with a wood dish on her knee and everybody
[At this stage pages eight and nine of the translater's version, there are at least two versions of the book, which are missing and therefore not translated. My tranlation of the missing section follows in italics.]
gave her something an gave it cheerfully and she wasn't ashamed to take it. And a good thing it was for to start life with. But folk get over proud to be beholden to you another and 'Bidden' Weddings went out of the fashion. There used to be wassailing and running and loping in the afternoon and plenty to eat and drink and nowt the worse.
Certainly to Wad Mine was a good sport in them days and wad was as plentiful as berries on a bush. But it was nobbit worked sometimes. As soon as they had
Page 8
gotten enough to assure them they shot it up. At that time there were no less than three or four stewards, to watch one another from stealing, a 'suppose'. But a deal was made; thieves used to come from other parts, far and near. They would 'oppent' mainly in summer time, for fowk in them days didn't doo much work in winter, for ye see winters were nowt like they are now.
From November to Candlemas we would nowt but frost and snow, and very seldom did the snow get off to the fell tops before Midsommer. I can mind when it was a very common thing to have to take geavelock [crowbar/spear] to break the ice in the beck for the cows to drink. What I can remember when Darran was frozen over for thirteen weeks. But we have nowt of that sort now, nor any such fine summers. We've nowt but rain and such 'row, snell' winter and cannot put my head together without getting cold.
Aye, we were always fond of a hunt in Borrowdale, but I think all kinds of animals have grown scarce. There never were any wolves in my time, but have heard folk tell they used used to be 'intul a borren' at Woof-staens, up in Langstreth. But I can mind well
Page 9
There's still a Jopson in the chapel, and a Wren in Langthwaite and we have an Allison and a Burke and a Wilson at Rossthwaite and there's a Threlket in Grange and there has been as long as the world has stood for all we know. And what, there's myself, you see that's still here; but I am the last of us without old Hugh or Gavin who have left, and if they died, it's unlikely if they ever come to Borrowdale.
Were their any superstitions back then? What do you mean! If it's anything bad, I can tell you; you may take yourself out of my house, for as I tell Tommy Wilson: If Borrowdale folk be poor they are honest, and none that ever come out of Keswick can say: "Blacks their nail".
Page 10
If you mean ghosts, you should have said so and not used such a big long word that is more appropriate for a pretend book than anything else. Yes, there were plenty of ghosts: not that I ever saw any myself but my uncle, King Joian, was once terribly frightened. He was chopping bark in a hut at Kitty—Weld—Howe—Brough, when who should come in right before him but a little woman without a head. You might be sure he never gave her ground for agreement.
Not much learnt in Borrowdale in those days? I can tell you, you are making a big mistake. You make me think of a Methodist priest that come to my house one day, pulling a face as long as a fiddle and looking as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. He says: "You've all been very ignorant up here for a long time." I replied: "Who told you? You can bet that they're a bunch of idle scallywags that would say so, and talk about what they don't understand." He had nothing to say for himself, except to tell me I was an old, hardened sinner, and took himself off. There were better scholars long ago than are now twenty times over. The school was nearly always full, and every farmer's son was kept going at school till he was very nearly twenty. Many a man there was in Borrowdale in those days and there's still a few left of them, that learnt Latin and could write in copperplate and do the hardest questions in the book. It isn't the
Page 11
masters’ fault that they are such poor scholars now, the children are now only sent a little bit, and then taken off and kept idle about the home learning nothing at all.
Yes, we were always a merry—hearted. folk together and fun occasions there were at times, but never anything nasty or mean. You could joke and take a joke in those days and maybe it wasn't always clear myself at the mischiefs that were being done. I can think about it as if it is only yesterday. There was a man called Great Wilson, of the Truss Yatts. It was a farmhouse then — he and his old wife had three servants, two lads and a lass. Now you see, Great Wilson was a terrible person for always stirring and prowling in the mornings before other folk were up.
Many a time at 5 o'clock on a cold winter's morning with the snow on the ground and the very stars frozen like icicles, would those two poor lads be hammering away with their flails right in the middle or the town, making all the doors ring again when we were all in bed. You might be sure there was little rest for one after that.
So, three of us young folk put our heads together to see how we could get revenge on him. His own lads were ready enough to help us. It was one Sunday right in the depths of winter and the lads went home a little bit before midnight, tiptoeing in as quiet as mice.
Page 12
They had been out courting, you see. Now, what should they do but put the clock forward to very near five. They'd hardly climbed up into the loft when the clock struck and up got the master. He goes to the bottom of the stairs shouting: "Lads, lads; are you not going to get up, you big lazy bones?" The lads were soon down and lighting the lantern, took off to the barn and began beating with their flails, as if they had a mountain to thrash for their porridge.
The lass came down rubbing her eyes, and glaring at the clock. She and the master tried to milk the cows, but little milk would the cows give. Then the old fellow mucked out the cowhouse and fiddled about, till they had their porridge. By that time it was nearly 8 o'clock and there was no sign of anybody else stirring. 9 o'clock came and 10 o'clock and still it was dark. He was fairly done and could hold out no longer, for the very darkness of the sky frightened him and he thought it would never be day again, so he crept away to bed where his old wife was lying as snug as a bee and as warm as a bannock. Waking up and feeling him shivering beside her, she says: "Love — in — days, Johnny, what's the matter? You're as cold as clay and shaking like an esp leaf; and what are those two boys making such a noise at this time of morning, as if they would be waking the dead?" "The morning", says he.
Page 13
"It's 10 o'clock and the sun hasn't risen." "I doubt, though, the world's at an end; I wouldn't have minded if I hadn't limed the creek last year, because we'll never get any good out of it."
You might be sure we taught him a lesson that he didn't soon forget. But my head has grown old, and I sometimes am at a loss to tell whether I'm talking about things that happened yesterday or long ago. But they might have been long ago, for the folk are all dead and gone and going out of my mind, and their very bones have now rotted away in the earth. I've had a long wait myself, but no doubt my time will come; and yet I would like to leave it a little bit longer, for everybody's very good to me. They tell me that Borrowdale will never have another Queen when I have gone and I think myself that, then, the old folk and the old ways will very nearly be swept away.

	BORROWDALE in the old Time by Sarah Yewdale, 1768/9- 1869, Queen of Borrowdale, 1870. Written in the old Lakeland dialect. A charming story about life in Borrowdale south of Keswick. Lanty Rawes lived at Seatoller in this dale. He had leased the right to quarry on top of Castle Cragg but eventually the quarry was forced to close, due to the environmental damage caused to the Hill Fort. Lanty died of scarlot fever in 1810, aged 52, and his family moved to Keswick. I found two different photostat copies of this little book amongst my archives, the poorer copy was used. The better photocopy with a translation had two missing pages. It is unfortunately not known who did the translation, which here follows the images. Julian Rawes, Harvington, 2021.







	NOTE: The original is in the Cumberland dialect and very difficult to understand. This may not be an exact translation. BORROWDALE IN THE OLD TIME As gathered from the conversation of the late Sarah Yudale, Queen of Borrowdale, who died February, 1869, in her 101st year. Published by R Bailey, Keswick, 1875. Page 3 Borrowdale in the old time. Borrowdale has changed! It's nothing like the same spot. When I was young, there wasn't as much as a wheeled thing in the whole of Borrowdale; not that it mattered much, for there were no roads then, only for horses and people on foot. But now, they tell me, as many of 40 or 50 vehicles come up Borrowdale each day and most of them four—wheeled and with two horses. They used to call us cuckoos when we went down to Keswick, but I'll tell you what, it's my opinion, if Keswick hadn't Borrowdale so handy, it would not be so well off. It's a fine show spot for them. No, we never had any want of cars, everybody rode, and all heavy loads, such as bundles of hay or corn, and sacks of meal, we managed to carry on the horses’ backs. We didn't need so many things from Keswick as they do now — there were no coals to bring, for folk burnt nothing but peat and sticks; and everybody lived off their own produce, and were clad with homespun cloth. There wasn't a farmhouse that didn't work hard through Page 4 all the long winter nights, with the whirring and burring of wool at the spinning wheels. Some, boys and girls, all as busy as weavers; and then, when the thread and the yarn was made, we would take it down to Keswick to old Willy Dawson, or old Bill Boo, or old Twentyman, and they'd weave it into fabric. It might be coarse garments, as you say, but it was good substantial stuff and kept you really warm in winter. A good woollen skirt and a short bed gown were the main dress that the ladies wear, with black knitted stockings and clogs. Yes, on Sundays, we would all be done up in our best and put on a slender shawl and were very particular about going to chapel. There were some of the old statesmen who wouldn't have missed the service for anything. They used to meet in the chapel yard and have a very good time, and get all the news and maybe hear of a stray sheep or two. Mostly, though, their dogs would come with them. Old Harry Joss, whether it was blowing hard or not, he and his dog, Bog, would come all the way from the Wartemouth; and they did say — and I believe it to be true — that his dog came several Sundays to the chapel after his death, and laid on his grave until the service was over. If there was any scandal, or other public goings on in the Dale, it was customary, in those days, to make it known after folk had come out of the chapel. Maybe it wasn't right, but folk didn't think it so in those old times. Page 5 Keswick market wasn't much of a market at all. Borrowdale folk used to gather over at the stake, and hire their servants and sell their goods at Hawkshead; but it was a long way and a rough road; not that they went more than two or three times in a year, and generally again at Christmas, to sell their goods and buy a lot of spices with the money, to bake their pies with; for Christmas was Christmas then; a time that folk in old times enjoyed more than they do now, and were all far more friendly one with another. A week before Christmas everybody began to be busy and, for all that week, there was much activity, with killing of sheep and splitting of wood, and baking of pies, as never was seen. Then, on Christmas Eve — a great log was put on the back of the fire, and the barrel was tapped, all was tidied up, and the fiddler would come and a few good fellows with him, and if folk weren't going to bed, there would be a dance. It was a regular thing to brew in October for Christmas. Everybody did so, both rich and poor; and some brewed at the same time for the shearing, for when Christmas was once fairly set in we did nothing but feast and dance and play at cards until Candle Mass. In those days, we always had a fiddler in the Dale and there was never a feast that there wasn't a dance. What fun! One would really tire oneself out at such times — after such feasting and dancing till you would fall asleep the next day at work. But there were no Page 6 jealousy or differences amongst us then; servants’ and statesmen’s sons and daughters were all alike, as well they might be. I see you looking at my chimney; I can tell you I am proud of my chimney; there's only one or two left like it and once there was nothing else in the whole of Borrowdale. A farmer's house would look amiss without its great open chimney, filled right up to the back with hams, rashes of bacon and legs of mutton and a good long dresser on the far side of the house, with rows of bright pewter plates and dishes. No, there are no pewter plates now — not that they were used often in the old times, for mostly the frying pan was set in the middle of the table and we all helped ourselves. Sometimes I think we were far more like the folk you read about in the scriptures in our manners and customs. Only the other day I was reading about Boaz, how he separated his corn by throwing it up again in the wind; and that was the way we used to do it, and many a fine frolic we had over it. What weddings! Yes, yes, I dare say, a wedding in Borrowdale was something for the Keswick folk to talk about for about a month after. But all has changed now, I have been a maid for sixty years now. But as far back as I can remember, but I can remember well what days there used to be at weddings; to be sure everybody didn't have such days. Some would sneak off, as they do now, and get married, and never a dog would bark, Page 7 and nobody would be the wiser until it was all over. But folk generally made a good day; there was maybe as many as twenty or thirty going over to the church on horseback, the bride sitting on the pillion behind her father, that's the man, you know, that was going to give her away at the church. It was a very cheerful sight to see them all going down the road in a long line, on a fine summer's morning. Coming back, there was such galloping and clattering, as you might have thought that the whole of Borrowdale had gone mad; for you see, it was thought a good thing to be first back from the church. There was Jack Bennet — Gentleman Jack as we called him — who had a mare called Kate, that nobody could beat, and many a time as Kate would come home first, and not always with anybody on her back. After dinner was over, folk would come from all parts of the Dale and the bride sat on a chair on the porch, with a wood dish on her knee and everybody [At this stage pages eight and nine of the translater's version, there are at least two versions of the book, which are missing and therefore not translated. My tranlation of the missing section follows in italics.] gave her something an gave it cheerfully and she wasn't ashamed to take it. And a good thing it was for to start life with. But folk get over proud to be beholden to you another and 'Bidden' Weddings went out of the fashion. There used to be wassailing and running and loping in the afternoon and plenty to eat and drink and nowt the worse. Certainly to Wad Mine was a good sport in them days and wad was as plentiful as berries on a bush. But it was nobbit worked sometimes. As soon as they had Page 8 gotten enough to assure them they shot it up. At that time there were no less than three or four stewards, to watch one another from stealing, a 'suppose'. But a deal was made; thieves used to come from other parts, far and near. They would 'oppent' mainly in summer time, for fowk in them days didn't doo much work in winter, for ye see winters were nowt like they are now. From November to Candlemas we would nowt but frost and snow, and very seldom did the snow get off to the fell tops before Midsommer. I can mind when it was a very common thing to have to take geavelock [crowbar/spear] to break the ice in the beck for the cows to drink. What I can remember when Darran was frozen over for thirteen weeks. But we have nowt of that sort now, nor any such fine summers. We've nowt but rain and such 'row, snell' winter and cannot put my head together without getting cold. Aye, we were always fond of a hunt in Borrowdale, but I think all kinds of animals have grown scarce. There never were any wolves in my time, but have heard folk tell they used used to be 'intul a borren' at Woof-staens, up in Langstreth. But I can mind well Page 9 There's still a Jopson in the chapel, and a Wren in Langthwaite and we have an Allison and a Burke and a Wilson at Rossthwaite and there's a Threlket in Grange and there has been as long as the world has stood for all we know. And what, there's myself, you see that's still here; but I am the last of us without old Hugh or Gavin who have left, and if they died, it's unlikely if they ever come to Borrowdale. Were their any superstitions back then? What do you mean! If it's anything bad, I can tell you; you may take yourself out of my house, for as I tell Tommy Wilson: If Borrowdale folk be poor they are honest, and none that ever come out of Keswick can say: "Blacks their nail". Page 10 If you mean ghosts, you should have said so and not used such a big long word that is more appropriate for a pretend book than anything else. Yes, there were plenty of ghosts: not that I ever saw any myself but my uncle, King Joian, was once terribly frightened. He was chopping bark in a hut at Kitty—Weld—Howe—Brough, when who should come in right before him but a little woman without a head. You might be sure he never gave her ground for agreement. Not much learnt in Borrowdale in those days? I can tell you, you are making a big mistake. You make me think of a Methodist priest that come to my house one day, pulling a face as long as a fiddle and looking as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. He says: "You've all been very ignorant up here for a long time." I replied: "Who told you? You can bet that they're a bunch of idle scallywags that would say so, and talk about what they don't understand." He had nothing to say for himself, except to tell me I was an old, hardened sinner, and took himself off. There were better scholars long ago than are now twenty times over. The school was nearly always full, and every farmer's son was kept going at school till he was very nearly twenty. Many a man there was in Borrowdale in those days and there's still a few left of them, that learnt Latin and could write in copperplate and do the hardest questions in the book. It isn't the Page 11 masters’ fault that they are such poor scholars now, the children are now only sent a little bit, and then taken off and kept idle about the home learning nothing at all. Yes, we were always a merry—hearted. folk together and fun occasions there were at times, but never anything nasty or mean. You could joke and take a joke in those days and maybe it wasn't always clear myself at the mischiefs that were being done. I can think about it as if it is only yesterday. There was a man called Great Wilson, of the Truss Yatts. It was a farmhouse then — he and his old wife had three servants, two lads and a lass. Now you see, Great Wilson was a terrible person for always stirring and prowling in the mornings before other folk were up. Many a time at 5 o'clock on a cold winter's morning with the snow on the ground and the very stars frozen like icicles, would those two poor lads be hammering away with their flails right in the middle or the town, making all the doors ring again when we were all in bed. You might be sure there was little rest for one after that. So, three of us young folk put our heads together to see how we could get revenge on him. His own lads were ready enough to help us. It was one Sunday right in the depths of winter and the lads went home a little bit before midnight, tiptoeing in as quiet as mice. Page 12 They had been out courting, you see. Now, what should they do but put the clock forward to very near five. They'd hardly climbed up into the loft when the clock struck and up got the master. He goes to the bottom of the stairs shouting: "Lads, lads; are you not going to get up, you big lazy bones?" The lads were soon down and lighting the lantern, took off to the barn and began beating with their flails, as if they had a mountain to thrash for their porridge. The lass came down rubbing her eyes, and glaring at the clock. She and the master tried to milk the cows, but little milk would the cows give. Then the old fellow mucked out the cowhouse and fiddled about, till they had their porridge. By that time it was nearly 8 o'clock and there was no sign of anybody else stirring. 9 o'clock came and 10 o'clock and still it was dark. He was fairly done and could hold out no longer, for the very darkness of the sky frightened him and he thought it would never be day again, so he crept away to bed where his old wife was lying as snug as a bee and as warm as a bannock. Waking up and feeling him shivering beside her, she says: "Love — in — days, Johnny, what's the matter? You're as cold as clay and shaking like an esp leaf; and what are those two boys making such a noise at this time of morning, as if they would be waking the dead?" "The morning", says he. Page 13 "It's 10 o'clock and the sun hasn't risen." "I doubt, though, the world's at an end; I wouldn't have minded if I hadn't limed the creek last year, because we'll never get any good out of it." You might be sure we taught him a lesson that he didn't soon forget. But my head has grown old, and I sometimes am at a loss to tell whether I'm talking about things that happened yesterday or long ago. But they might have been long ago, for the folk are all dead and gone and going out of my mind, and their very bones have now rotted away in the earth. I've had a long wait myself, but no doubt my time will come; and yet I would like to leave it a little bit longer, for everybody's very good to me. They tell me that Borrowdale will never have another Queen when I have gone and I think myself that, then, the old folk and the old ways will very nearly be swept away.