Ramble No. 8

There is an old adage, which says that “March comes in like lion and goes out like a lamb.” Though old sayings are often trite and true, touching March this year (1872) the one mentioned above did not hold good, for the 1st was an unusually mild day, with occasional bursts of sunshine, and the weather has since kept exceedingly fine, and upon the whole favourable for pedestrian exercise. We have had now and then, what the farmers look upon as a good sign, small clouds of the moil, or dust, of March, a peck of which is said to be worth the king’s ransom. I hope the dust portends a good harvest, which would benefit the farmers and all classes of Her Majesty’s subjects. Though it is some time since I had a ramble on the slopes, I determined, weather permitting, to resume them, and appointed last Saturday the day on which I would start. A cloudy morning betokened a gloomy day, but towards noon, Sol’s bright beam dispelled the gloom, a brisk north western wind sprung up and though the day was colder than usual, I in company with two intelligent working men, thanks to the shorter hours of labour, left Hill Top House about three o’clock in the afternoon.

Proceeding rapidly on Chapel Lane, Cemetery Road, Claremont, Jack Hill and by way of Little Green Lane, we soon arrived at the boundary stone separating the townships of Liversedge and Heckmondwike. The stone has on one side L B., and the numerals 18; on the other H B., and the numerals 13. The letters L. B. and H. B. standing for Liversedge and Heckmondwike boundaries. A facetious inhabitant of Heckmondwike, when travelling to Leeds many years ago, was asked the meaning of L. B. “Oh!” says he, “don’t you know? Why, it means L for Leeds, and B, for back again,” and probably, at some future time, say after the elapse of five or six centuries, when some antiquarian Monkbarn is in quest of antique remains, if the stone remains, he will be sorely puzzled to make out its hieroglyphical character, and comfort himself that he made a grand discovery, upon which he may descant to a learned audience, or publish for the benefit of his admiring friends.

The views from this point are very pretty, and embrace a wide extent of the country, a description of which I should have dotted down had not the cold and the progress of time warned us to pass on. We soon reached Popeley House, the residence of Mrs. Hughes, relict of the late Rev. William Hughes, whose sudden death in Christ Church, Liversedge, when performing divine service there, March 11th 1858, cast quite a gloom over the neighbourhood. His affability of manners and kindness of disposition won for him much respect. I perfectly recollect his death, being summoned, along with other medical men, to attend to him, but the vital spark had fled and his spirit had gone to that bourne from whence no traveller has yet returned. The scene in the church and its precincts is still vividly impressed on my memory.

Popeley House was formerly occupied by Mr. John Smith, cloth merchant, and subsequently by other cloth manufacturers. The house has a south-west aspect and is a neat, comfortable country residence. Immediately below is Field Head, the residence of Henry Wadsworth, Esq., though an old historic spot, the original house has become modernised and additions made to it. The late J. H. Wadsworth, Esq., practised here along with his sons as solicitors, for a many years, and the same profession is still carried on by his descendants, Messrs. Henry and William Wadsworth. Some of the Wadsworth family were fond of the sports of the field, and one of them happened a serious accident, now close upon forty years ago, I believe in 1835. This was Mr. John Wadsworth, when out shooting in the neighbourhood of Woodchurch. The gun of Hardwick, his gamekeeper, by some means or other went off, and shot Mr. Wadsworth in the leg, rendering amputation necessary; the shock proved too great for his system and he speedily sank. The late Mr. William Hey, of Leeds and Mr. Joseph Senior, of Batley, did all that surgical skill could accomplish, but in vain. His body rests in Liversedge churchyard with many others of his family.

Crossing the highway, we took a stroll in the grounds of Healds Hall, and though the floral attractions at this period of the year are only few, we found the remains of some of February’s choicest flowers. Amongst them winter’s queen, the snowdrop, closely accompanied by the knightly crocus. The feathered songsters, which during the month have delighted us by their melody were almost hushed in quietness, but the lordly peacock, in brilliant plumage, attended by his more modest attired mate, basked in the sunshine.

Healds Hall is a large and stately three-storeyed mansion, nicely embosomed by clumps of well-grown timber; has a south-west aspect, and before the dense population existed in the valley below, would be a beautiful retreat. It was erected in 1766 by Joseph Bilton, Esq., the date with the initials “B. I. T.” with some heraldic devices, being visible on a leaden spout at the back part of the hall. Mr. Bilton was a gentleman of some note in the locality, and was one of the Commissioners of the Court of Requests, under an act passed in 1780, for the more speedy recovery of small debts, and its jurisdiction extended over the parishes of Halifax, Bradford, Keighley, Birstall, Batley and other places. The qualification of a Commissioner was, that he had to possess property of the value of £60 yearly, or of £1,000 personal property.

The Biltons, being a family of opulence, kept much company, and an old female servant of theirs, who died in 1860, aged 88 years, related to me the following story which occurred during her residence with them. The butler, after bottling a cask of wine, presented my informant and her follow servant with a bottle each, like Timothy, for their stomach’s sake. Nothing loth, they received it, not being unused to a lass or two now and then. Hannah, my storyteller, feeling uneasy in having possession of such a quantity, resolved to get rid of it as speedily as possible, and whilst the other maid was milking the cows, drank the contents of the whole bottle. She then took into the room the family breakfast, her face having a very bacchanalian hue – as she said to me, “like a rising sun.” Her mistress exclaimed, “Why, Hannah, you must be very ill; you look very feverish; I am afraid you are going to have St. Virtus’s dance; you must go to bed immediately.” Kind, considerate soul. Hannah obeyed most willingly, had a long sleep, the effects of the port vanished, and in the evening she was as merry as a household cricket. Her fellow servant durst not practise the same game, and took her wine by degrees.

“Go to your parish,” as Bilton said to the beggar, was a saying in vogue formerly, and originated thus: A beggar, in the garb of a sailor, sought alms at the hall, and was told by Mr. Bilton to go to his parish. Ready with answers, as beggars often are, he replied, “My parish is the wide, wide sea,” which so touched the heart of Mr. Bilton that he amply feasted and relieved him, and sent the poor fellow on his way rejoicing. It was no uncommon saying for people about to build to exclaim that they would build a hall as big as Bilton’s, expressive of what they would like to do, whether they were able or not.

Healds Hall in now the residence and property of Samuel Cooke, Esq., the eminent and well-known carpet manufacturer, whose extensive works are at Millbridge, in the valley below, and to which I shall again refer before I close my rambles on the slopes of Liversedge. I possess on old lithograph print of Healds Hall, which shows that at the time it was taken, the country about was much more wooded than at the present time.

Passing on to Littletown we found this village greatly improved during the last few years, presenting a much more modern aspect. At the entrance to the village there is a neat Primitive Methodist Chapel named Highfield, erected in 1860, with schoolrooms beneath. Here formerly was a tanyard, where an extensive trade was carried on by Mr. Joseph Cockill; it occupied a portion of the site of the Old Oak Inn and wheelwright’s yard and shop near to, and had ample supply of water from a small rivulet from Little Gomersal, which empties itself into the river Spen below the bridge.

There are still a many large old houses in Littletown, in times gone by occupied by the Cockills and other families, who had large dyeworks here and supplied with water from a hill at the north side of the village, where a reservoir still remains. The dyeworks are not now in operation. One house, sometimes termed the hall, has the date 1689 and initial I W, with a small figure head upon the door head. The door is of a very massive character, the house gabled with quaint stone gargoyles for the water, in fact very similar to the other old halls, already described in previous rambles.

The Heckmondwike Co-operative Industrial Society have a flourishing branch here (No. 2), and near thereto is a working-men’s newsroom, numbering close upon 100 members. My informant stated they had no library, a want which must be felt, and which I trust will soon be filled up. Arriving at the bridge spanning the Spen, we halted for a short time, and soon should have had a tolerable number of attendants, for we were suspected, indeed it was openly expressed, that we were on a Local Board errand. We disabused their minds, but I told them, though I was no prophet or the son of a prophet, that many of them would live to see a Local Board established, the river Spen freed from many impurities which flow into it, frolicsome fishes sporting in it, a trunk sewer extending down the whole of the river, its contents utilised, producing food for man and beast, and promoting the general health of the populous community in this important valley.

We came across here and there with a scurrilous low placard signed “pounds, shillings and pence,” to which the printer was even ashamed to put his name, calling upon inhabitants to oppose the formation of a Local Board, and emanating from a source whose principal study must be what they sign themselves to be, rather than for a love of the common well of Liversedge.

Our route home was by the footpath fringing the churchyard and extending into Hightown Lane, and soon arrived at the Green in Heckmondwike, where we found an immense mass of people – men, women and children – listening to the stump oratory of auctioneers or witnessing a disciple of Blondin performing on the tight rope. One woman says to another, “Nay, Mary lass, we get whar and whar,” evidently referring to the eloquence she heard and the rope walking. A voice replied, “Don’t you see, that the more we get enlightened there is evidently a greater tendency in society to humbug and be humbugged.”

We then made our exit and arrived safely at our respective homes, resolved to meet another day.