 Part 1 of Coniston Tales by W. G. Collingwood This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Coniston Tales, told by W. G. C. and printed and published by William Holmes Ulverston, 1899 To the editor of Nothing Much, a monthly magazine. It was owing to your encouragement that these sketches were attempted and it is by your help and permission that they are now reproduced from your pages. Accept then the dedication of our little book from your obliged contributor W. G. C. Coniston, April 1899 The Apology Two poets of old we know, two Sarger Smiths today and the one is long ago and the other is far away. For the things of here and now and the thoughts of now and here they write on the wrinkled brow in ruins of an evil cheer. They bid us be up and fight, they shout to us forth and strive from the cockroach onto the night as long as we stand alive. But the old world tales says, dream of days that have long gone by by the light of the sunrise gleam and the glamour of memory and over the hills is hope and the wonder of distant things as the stars in the telescope out glitter your diamond rings. So the cares of a weary day fall from us like spring-tide snow when we gaze upon far away or dream about long ago. End of Part 1 Part 2 of Coniston Tales by W. G. Collingwood The Cairn on the Moor It was on Tovermoor I lay in the grass and the sun was hot on my shoulders and the heat of it scorched my cheek and my ear tingled where it was touched by the burning. I was lying on an old cairn, stone-built and mortared with moss. The crown of the cairn was dimpled like the crown of a ripe apple and turf and thyme crept about its foundation. Bees were busy at the time, they sailed and stopped, sailed and stopped, and the coming of them was stillness rather than sound. Then a very little breath of wind swept over the moor and they took their ways and went. And then down in the cairn I heard talking as it might be on the other side of a door. No greater gift is given of man to man with this the tree that grows thick as thy waist is broken and falls to hollow for a boat or prop thy hut thatch. Give it then to my hand. Nay, listen, with this the bone thy teeth have cleaned is made as a thorn to let out the life of beast or man. Give it, I say. Nay, hear, with this the oak stub is hollowed before one moon grows round when red hot stones have been nightly heaped upon it. With this thou tapest softly so the wild wolf's head bone are maybe a man's and he is dead. It is mine. And what mine? This coat of deer-skin. That is nothing. This necklace of teeth. That is little. O child hither, leave twining bark strips and turn thy feet to me. And thou stranger, look upon her. Fat she is, for she eats fat of deer. Red is her mouth, for she drinks the blood when it is warm. And when the snow is deep she lies by the fire and non-sturs her. The best she has of all and she is strong as a young wolf. Then I saw the stranger tramping over the moor and the wind blew. A tall man shaggy and fierce, and after him tripped a young girl, lithe and strong with fair skin, sunburnt and slim, ungerded waist. Black were her eyes and gleaming, and rosey her cheeks with a tear on each. Long dark hair streamed away in the wind. On her back she carried the skin-sack of the stranger heavy with its load, and as he went down to the Ford of the Gill he turned to her and seemed to bid her look well to her burden. But with no menace and she looked at him with soft eyes as a dog looks. But by the low turf thatched hut on the brow of the moor stood another man, heeding them not at all, but patting and fondling a sharp stone axe, stroking it over as if it had been a living cub of some beast of the hunt. Then he hewed at a log of wood and the axe stuck in it. He laughed and shouted and rested it away. Out of the hut crept a woman on hands and knees, for the door was low. She stood up and stared around and shrieked out to the man. He held up his treasure before her eyes, and she sat down and rocked herself and tore her hair. There was talking again. It would be in the stranger's hut, a little cooing voice. Go then and come back with the greatest book on the mountains. The fire shall burn and I will make the taste savoury meat. It is thee I would eat, bird, soft to my hands and to my mouth sweet as honey. And tomorrow, tomorrow I would lie still and taste what I had eaten, and the third day, the third day I would set fire to rafter and thatch and go in the smoke, thy bones and mine together, thy flesh and mine to the stars. Nay, now fool, leave this in a way to the hunting. Come thou with me, we will hunt together and I will show thee a nest of eaglets. What? And who will get firewood and fetch water and pick red heather for thy filthy black hut? We too, afterwards. By moonlight, go, rough bear, go, and be as men are, and mine as a woman and thy wife. Then it was moonlight. The mist lay flat along the valley as if the waters had risen to the brink of the moor. Outside the hut a fire burnt and she threw sticks upon it and stones and now and then raked out a stone red hot to cast it into a great earthen pot where water was bubbling. She looked over the moor. Other huts hard by lay silent and their fires smoldered and smoked up to the sky. She looked up at the crags. They were black and nothing stirred betwixt them and her. The moon waded through the clouds and a red star shone in the fringe of the moonbur. There was one coming over the moor in the mist. She clapped her hands and ran to meet him, crying out shrilly like a curlew. She ran and stopped. He was gone. Her knees shook as she came trembling back to the hut and to the sinking fire. The moon was over the crags. She climbed upon a hillock and looked out again. There was one standing on the hillock over against her. She plunged through the heather and panted up the brow, but he was gone. Her teeth chattered as she came back to the hut and the fire was failing. The moon was set now. Only the red star stood upon the edge of the crags. She climbed again to watch the brown moor and lo, one stooped at the very door of the hut, stooping as if to enter. He was plain to see between her and the firelight. She flew down the slope and fell into the doorway. No one was there. As she lay by the dying fire, hardly able to throw twig after twig upon it. But this she must do till he came. Then the dawn arose. And then the morning. What woman? Is thy man away? O neighbour, where is he? Who should know but thou? I drove him out to hunt. A hunting he will be. But I saw him cross the moor. It was a deer. But I saw him stand on yon brow. It was no more than a stone. But I saw him come in at this door. Near, then, get thee gone to the wise man. Then an old man came, brown-skinned and tanned all over as if he had lain for a hundred years in a peep-bog. His tawny white hair hung to his waist. His beard clothed him below it and the hair of his limbs was white on the brown. He had a hollow cobble in his hand, and over it for a lid was a lucky stone, such a bit of slate with an unmade hole in it as you find on the topmost top of Coniston fells. He took red embers in his fingertips and set them in the hollow of the stone and white smoke curled up through the hole in the lid. He crept into her hut and the door was shut upon him. She sat weeping outside and her hair lay in her lap. Within the hut there was a stirring and harsh singing and cries. They bade her ask, now or never, of the wise man made strong in his wisdom. Father, where is he? Search. Where shall I turn? Higher. Perhaps I've seen him. I see him. Oh, tell me, between its crag and water, does he stir? He sleeps. Oh, give me tokens. Black and white the stream falls. Red and white he lies. She was clambering over the giant screes, calling and crying. Aloft the cloven crags hung huge above her. Beneath was a black stilled tarn. Over against her rose the mountain and the cloud. The screes moved under her feet that bled from sharp stones and her knees were red from rough rasping. There was no answer to her cry but what the rocks gave back, shouting to her all around. Every cranny of the great rock slide she searched and rubbed her eyes with torn hand and clambered forward. Then into a cliff she fell and in her fall she clasped him. Oh, man of mine! Strong man of mine! Hunter of the wolf and the red deer and the roe! How have I lost thee? How have I followed thee? How have I found thee again? Oh, light of my eyes! Oh, drink of my mouth! Oh, fire of the heart in my body! Where is the glance of thee? Where is the breath of thee? Where is the warmth of thy cold, cold breast? A great thing he gave, a little thing he got, but he took me to his dwelling and I am his. How shall I call thee? How shall I awaken thee? The lifeblood has run through the crannies of the rocks. The great rocks have eaten thee, the sharp rocks have torn thee, as a bear, as a wolf, growling over a kid of the goats. This, I know, this will I do. Be strong, my shoulders as an oak, be hard, my broken feet as the stones of the crags. I will carry him back to the kinsfolk, I will build him the red sleeping-place of the silence, I will lie down beside him and hold him fast, and we shall go up together. Round about the fire of the dead they stood, the wild folk of the fell, and the heather blazed up with the smothering smoke. There was a great cry, shrill as a curleuse, and a low cry, soft as a doves, and they looked on one another, and nodded with their heads. When the fire had died away out of the embers they plucked a few bones and a handful of white ashes, and all that was left of a true heart. On the spot of the burning they left them in a rude urn of clay. Men laid stones around and roofed their spot over with unhewn stones. Women tore their hair and beat their bosoms, digging and clamouring around the cairn on the moor. The bees sailed by to the time and stopped and clung about the grasses. The sun stood over dow crags and the moon was rising, soft behind the long fur-woods of Monk Honiston, dreamy and warm in the evening light. It was an easy pillow for a sleeping head that moss-grown dimpled pile and turf-invaded base of the still-unviolated tomb. That said I, rising. Three thousand years ago are in dream-land. Such hearts may be found. But I was young then and had many things to learn. End of Part 2 Part 3 of Coniston Tales by W. G. Collingwood This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Great Circle He was father and chief of the Tykes. When the Tykes were acclaimed he chanted him son of the Hound, their mightiest man. In the days when the curries were ice and the summits were snow and the valleys were smothered in birch and the levels in flow. He was master of boron and lith. He was lord of the moor and he followed the hunt like a dog for his scent was ashore. With breath as unbroken and muscle as ropey and full and the beard and the brow of an ape and the voice of a bull. When the bore of the swamp was at bay it was he that ran in. When the cave-dweller bellowed and boxed it was he took the skin and when strangers came up through the woods from the far-lying plain it was he that heaved rocks at their heads till they vanished again. His desire was a law to his tribe. His saying was good. He took what he fancied of weapons or women or food. He gave what he wearied of smote what he angered with slew foe that fled friend that fell child that cried and a plead was taboo. So the creature grew heavy and fat and at last unaware he was caught he was speared he was slain like his brother the bear and with wailing and faces flint scored and anointed with mud his kinspeople buried him here where the peat drank his blood they gave him a spear that the spirits might hunt for his meat and a slave newly slain at his head and a wife at his feet and leaving him housed in the cairn their last offering they made of a drink in a bowl and a flesh for the peace of the shade. Now wonders began for the folk climbed hillward at morn so it was the offering accepted or wasted in scorn and lo the bowl empty the platter lay cleared on the ground and two long grey wolves of the wood stretched out by the mound he was stirring they whispered at night he was drunken and fed he is smitten a stroke at the beasts and he's back to his bed and they prided themselves on their chief filled platter and bowl and a bowed between worship and awe for the terrible soul so the day's water winter the dark outwearyed the moon and the sun setting nightly drew nearer the mark of the noon and she that should go with the grave meal her withered old wife nay she would not let younger folk fare she was feared of her life she had seen what a wolf well a bear she had heard what the dead thought her heart was as water her knees failed she fled so a daredevil last cried who fears and forth she would go and they found her next day by the grave with her face in the snow then they trembled and whispered and pointed and fled in a fright and they hid in their hovels and listened and quaked through the night but when salending glittered deeped out on the grave the dread of the dark passed away for the spring made them brave till at last on an eve came one through twilights and ways with foam on his beard and his eyes yet a fire with a maze I have seen him he chased me he caught me I fought him he cried I wrestled I threw him he panted and speaking he died then the elders sat grimly in conclave their feet to the fire with the druid their medicine man in his magic attire strange feathers and furs of creatures they dreaded the most and a snakeskin for belts and a mask would frighten a ghost he was wizard and prophet and priest and he knew what was wise when war was afoot between men and the folk of the skies so he lay on the turf and was silent and rising at last spoke out of the salve that should heal the wounds of the past there are stones on the fell there are slabs as huge as a steer go find them and fetch them you cannot no matter you hear how lead you the bear that is slain he call yourselves men and heave with a song at the cords by ten and by ten there are thatch ropes of hide to your roofs go bind them around there are rafters go lay them beneath that they roll on the ground so build you a rampart of rock in a ring to the tomb as he bide in his house and leave troubling lo this for his doom he was architect also the druid he scored out the line and planned what none else of his age had the wit to divine and they chanted the song art as they toiled in the blaze the art of the builder in stone the first of his days and the soul of the terrible dead in his grave was at rest and the nights of his people were peaceful their mornings were blessed and less than a little they dreamed of the alien eyes that should stare at their work with a maze in this world of the wise end of part three part four of coniston tales by W.G. Collingwood this Librivox recording is in the public domain of the mines in the mountains a greek letter written about 85 A.D. note Demetrius was a real person and so was his supposed correspondent the tablet he dedicated to Oceana Santithis I have seen in the museum at York mention of his studies in Britain which is made by Plutarch we do not know that the coniston mines were actually worked by the Romans though many writers have affirmed as much perhaps the iron mines in low furnace were known to them and worked even still earlier for at Stanton two polished stone celtics were found in the old men's workings in many other parts of England the Romans certainly mined and smelted and their coins and pottery in the deeps of slag and rubbish where they worked end of note Demetrius the scribe to Amonius master of philosophy health and happiness many a time it has come into my mind O Amonius to send the word of my latest wanderings in this isle of Britain but the distance and the wildness of this barbarous country and the irregularity of messengers have prevailed but now it seems I can pay the for know that I am come to the shore of the uttermost parts to a haven whence tomorrow a ship will sail venturing forth like Perseus winging his way from the unknown mountains of Atlas committing itself like the bark of Ulysses to the streams of encircling ocean in the amazing hope of revisiting Iberia and the pillars of Heracles and so through the happier waters of our own sea making for Rome thence to Delphi is as it were but a step so that even this frail wax tablets may come to thy honoured hands the master mariner to whom I spoke but now laughed at my wonderment when I asked him what chance he had of reaching port said he with fair wind and good fortune in two months or so we shall be eating grapes on the quay at Ostea never a doubt saving reverence due to the nereads and I said he with a grin I'm no high lass but indeed a wonderful place is this little harbour Ravenglass five years ago a desert of spreading sandhills by the grey and many sounding sea or at least a village of the wildest barbarians who in frail barks of basket so they call it covered with bulls hides essay the fishery of Herring and of cod yay even attack the porpoise and the seal then comes our great agricola marching through estuary and forest opening out dense ways and lightless tracks for the rays of wisdom and the arts of life to enter in with eagle eye he sees that the haven was fair being a landlocked pool where three rivers meet and a narrow opening to the hyperboreal expanse of storm note by the way that hereabouts they find pearls though such as I have seen tonight be but little an internally Spanish of Hugh with no more than a dull gleam upon them but with a word our Julius bids a camper rise and low a town well placed defensible and for such a climate neither unfit nor uninhabitable yonder they say I saw it not one beholds the island of Mona and from this port go three roads to the south to the north and to the west where by the goods of the merchants and the sinews of war carried on the backs of men and horses far into the heart of the land here then at the consummation of my travel through woods and wilds am greeted by the delights of life supper not wholly uneatable being a shell drake thought a delicacy by these natives and with it a salmon and oysters there is a roof above me fairly built a couch to lie upon and wonder of wonders a bath within a few paces of the door what is no less welcome I find converse of human beings unlike the apes of the mountains think not I mean the same breed with those of Africa but creatures that are not far removed thou sayest even apes are not too mean nor too unclean for thy disciple to regard with the eye of inquiry be it so and indeed I have sought to take the measure of these gadelic monsters even to the gauging of their poor wits and the probing of their shallow ideas of things they ignorantly assert concerning the gods but the mere sound of a Greek or even a Roman voice cheers me after the painful solicisms of barbarous guides and the interpreted stammerings of the more uncouth mountaineers army have I often said as I strove to hear their various and incomprehensible babbling who shall interpret the interpreters I call them apes but in jest thou knowest I scorn them not wholly in my heart for as the Roman says homo sam and so forth now wilt thou ask where have I been in what wilds among what savages finding what adventures my Ammonius among the gadelic for so my apes are called and in their savages hills mountains I know and thou knowest behind Tarsus my native town city of great men and do they not encircle thy sacred home of Delphi but what is the great Parnassus' self to these they call Scudow and Elbilin and Pens and Cathars and such like names innumerable in their jargon think as thou I compare them for their size not so for mere altitude I reckon Taurus or the Heliconian summit at twice their importance think as thou for their prospects I smile never with sights more horrible for sheer lack of oars that may make travelling endurable for cold and wet, for hunger and toil for roughness of rock and pathlessness of waste, for treacherous swamp and tangled forest and above all for danger of yet unsubdued savages fiercer than their wolves and wild bulls for these no Caucasus nor Alps may be compared with that I have gone through today and I shake the dust nay the mud of them from my weary feet from being sent as thou knowest O Ammonius by Augustus Domitian of whom the gods preserve to search out the resources of this island and to add unknown wealth to the glory of the empire I came to Eburacum how I travelled what honourable reception I had from the governor how I laboured to approve myself worthy of his welcome teaching for a season in the schools which he, greatly in my judgement hoping, has founded for the better sort of barbarians all this I have written and sent by the imperial messenger to the daring seamen who pushes forth into the unknown tomorrow I entrust these less valued lines know then that a gricola the governor, having travelled in these parts and having sought information from the natives I searched diligently for certain iron and copper of which tales were told I heard and obeyed by the road his centurions had made I travelled through the land of the Brigantis making all haste across the less rugged but not more fertile hill country until I came to a great bay called by the Britons Moor Camp which is to say the Crooked Sea then so the wide wet sands thou knowest in these places the sea falls twice a day and twice comes roaring back to take up its place was it that which Homer meant in saying the streams of ocean and not only the currents and whirlpools thereof I leave this by the way to thy better judgement now across the sands there is a well known road by the coast of the Sistanti and where the successive estuaries of Lona and Canta and Lebanon give place to dry land the road is made over white rocks that put me in mind of the white crags of Greece forgive the comparison for to an exile even the likeness of stone with stone takes the eye and these white rocks whereof I bring with me morsels are assuredly like our marble though coarser in grain being well fitted for burning to lime there is also good abundance of a tophatia smile fit for agriculture across the sands without mishap trusting to my guides I came to a road well made in the red earth through an undulating land and on a brow above a little valley found lodging in the station founded by our agricola footnote he seems to mean Dalton in furnace end of footnote thereabouts the rocks are red and it needed no witness to show me iron lying somewhere hidden in the limestone not to weary thee with many a day's toil I found a good ore and mark the spots showing my tables of authority to the prefect I bade him set men to work digging it in places better and more profitable than those where the ignorant natives had scratched the soil with rude stone tools smelting the red ore in rudder hearths then sapped to repose seven days ago it seems a month of nights I set forth hearing that copper was found in the mountains my heart failed me to venture into those trackless wilds but duty and the service I owe impelled me to risk my life for am I not as it were the soldier of philosophy therefore I set forth with a good company and well armed given me by the prefect under a centurion responsible for my safe conduct to whom was added a ragged crew of aborigines who partly for fear and slavish ore and partly tempted by promises for a gricolous comedy has taught me to deal friendly even with these apes had taken oath on all they held sacred of which more hereafter to show me where copper might be for thou mayest believe to seek mines in these mountains be a man ever so expert is seeking knots in a rush without he have some forewarning of their place in a little while we left the plain if plain it be called being but the shelf of shore along another estuary forgive the comparison again but I held it not unlike the coast of thy home in that mountains stand over against mountains with inlets of the sea between then we struck into the wilderness and forced our way through woods of oak and beach the olive is unknown in this region nor does the cypress grow though the juniper is as it were a mockery of it and we passed over tracks of heather which wonderful to relate blooms even here it's gladdened me to breathe its well remembered fragrance much club moss is found on the hills and plucked by our Britons for charms according to their religion before us were ever the distant mountains purple on the afternoon sky the multitude of birds astonished me of lesser kinds were flights innumerable but what thou wouldst admire is the wild peacock of the North a great bird of many colours that makes its nest in these moors footnote the Cappacali end of footnote at evening so wearied was I for I could not always ride on my horse the ways being far too rough and I often rode on the back of an unsavoury gadolus pity me Amonius so wearied was I that I fell supine upon the heather which they gathered for my couch and so continued until the sun was high that day I came to a lake long and narrow embosomed in the wooded hills here the freshwater fishery might be to some profit if ever men were brought to live so far away from the world but who can dwell in such a place even to eat fresh drought upon heathery wastes I did indeed see huts of the gadily and smoke arising I bade my men catch one of these same apes as I might see whether he had the form of humanity and one they caught asleep in his lair he blinked at me from under a shaggy red thatch of matted hair and truly though thou mayest exclaim and doubt he might have passed were he washed and combed for one of those red gallations long-limbed and barbarous of aspects whom I have seen come down to Tarsus but he would answer no word to all questions and my men being used to such cattle began to twist his arms and chastise him that he should speak but I more humane as becomes thy disciple and a follower of Ardulius bade them somewhat sharply to desist on which released he was gone in the twinkling of an eye skipping among the tall bushes of heather and hardly discernible at the distance of a stone's throw one of my men recovering himself did indeed sling a bullet after him but it seemed to fail of the mark for which the centurion smote him down and promised discipline to those that had let the ape go free thou mightest say my master that they were not wholly to blame I will bear it in mind if indeed punishment be not already meted out and yet in these wilds there is little time for ethical disputations and a nice balancing of motives as we use in the schools the soul of a man deserts his head and seems to travel to the finger joints of his right hand which being prompt as a justice of its own in this land of Britain so thus I came into the very heart of the mountains beside a roaring stream that led into a dell exceeding narrow I passed therein with fear and trembling for the rocks were high above my head and great stones lay around but lately fallen and shattered by the mercy of the gods I came through but only to find rocks still more frightful and dangerous reaching to the sky all around and great waterfalls hanging from them and clouds covering their tops who knows how lofty and threatening I put up a prayer to the deities of the place and to the genius of Augustus as well I might and took heart somewhat for true it is in spite of doubting that holy beings dwell in these sacred recesses have I not felt their awe even my soldiers nay even the apes themselves believe it held breath and seemed to fear now the rock of these mountains is black and in places I found who we spent the night even there certain pillars of stones hexagonal such as I seen only in land near a burning mountain for such is my experience seeing which I inquired if fire had ever been known to burst from the earth they assured me that no such thing was in any old stories or songs of the people and yet there are great greaters in these hills like that of Vesuvius sometimes filled with water which might seem to have quenched the native fire footnote it was clever of him to notice this but he was quite mistaken as every schoolboy knows nowadays end of footnote and yet thou knowest how Vesuvius so long quiet burst forth but five years ago and with what terrible consequences I braved every danger and confidence in my mission and the protection of the gods explored the uttermost cranny of this tartarian gulf it is in these crannies that copper is found a white streak of hard stone sparkling like alabaster and a glimmer as of gold in it or a streak of soft red earth in the solid rock stained with green spots betrays the metal some little holes have been dug here and there by the natives but as before the best places were untouched these I noted and the manner of finding them again and shortly, fortune favouring shall send men to open out mines and with due authority to work them for copper but the lamp burns low my sailor snores at the door waiting this hour for the letter I scribble hastily the tablets will hold no more than must suffice to tell thee how after a day's journey through hills even as frightful I came to a fort on a steep lofty tongue of land in the midst of the mountains where the builders are still at work footnote end of footnote there I was well received and resting for one night travelled more easily by a road even now in making through a valley unspeakably hideous and wild beside a river whereof when I asked the name they could tell nothing but usk or esk which is no more than to say water such as the state of these barbarians and now after short repose I must again venture forth into these mountains for I hear talk of still richer mines in them may Oceana Santithis whom I here behold face to face under the stars send me safe into civilised regions may all good gods be with thee farewell salute the young Plutarch for me and tell him that I who laughed once follow him now in carrying tablets with me and noting all new things in the moment of seeing them end of part 4 the life of Coniston Tales by W. G. Collingwood this Librivox recording is in the public domain the three godmothers in days of yore on a morning yule there were folk at a christening the priest was robed and the stoop was filled for the child of the angle king the child was born at the murk midnight and lapped in the snow-white lawn and holden forth from Bower to Kirk before the break of dawn now who stand out to speak the word and stead him at the fonts and who shall be his godmother as christian folk are once and lo beside the holy step three ladies standing fair raven locks and chestnuts curls and she with the golden hair raven hair with the purple robe and chestnuts curls with the plaid and goldilocks with the great white limbs and the bear blade now take the child and make the pledge and vow the gossip vow they lifted a hand to the stars above and laid it on his brow and raven hair she gave him a gift that was a kingly wand and chestnuts curls she gave him a gift the harp was in her hand and goldilocks she gave him a gift and a smile was on her lip when his little red hand shut hard and fast on the tiller of a ship now who be these that none so come and none have seen depart with these thy saints so priest from heaven or whites of wizard art nay neither saints so king from heaven nor whites of wicked birth but the greatest of all the powers that be and dwell in the middle earth for one was queen of the south country and one of the western realm and one was queen of the northern coasts that bear the long ships helm and she that gave a golden rod she has given the rulers dower to hold the world in wheel and peace with the heritage of power and she that gave the corded harp she has given a secret spell to call the tears to an angels eyes and a smile to souls in hell and she that gave the tiller haft she has given a heart of oak to drive the horses of the storm in the thirty sea kings yoke the king laughed out for very pride and snapped his thumb in glee but the priest looked forth to the rising sun and he signed with his fingers three hail to the child of the angle folk and the gifts that the world has given wheel them and prosper till thou forget the gift I have brought thee is greater yet the cross of thy lord in heaven end of part five part six of coniston tales by W.G. Collingwood this Librivox recording is in the public domain a miracle of st. Cuthbert about 680 AD there is neither history nor legend of st. Cuthbert at coniston the whole story is a might of being but there is nothing in it that might not have been and Reginald of Durham might have written it somewhat as follows Hic in capits miraculum quod beatus cuthbertus incuplandia est operatus of that holy man Cuthbert pleasant and profitable it is to read and though the pen refuses to set down all the journeyings he made and the words he spoke and the wonderful actions he performed and many are before submitted from the tale of the reckoning yet it is not ungrateful to add one other to the chapters of his life as it has been recounted to us by scribes of all time whereas Cuthbert was made bishop over the land of the Cumbrians after that King Edgfrith had subdued them to his arms it so happened that the pious monarch impelled by divine desires gave into the hand of the holy man all that country which is called Cartmel with such Britons as dwelt therein to hold in his free possession for aliments and for comfort of the journeyings when the office and work of his ministry called him hither and thither now being at the city of Carlisle it was born in upon him to visit this new possession and to set it in order spiritually no less than temporarily and on the way to confirm the churches exhorting the faithful rousing the sluggards and compelling all to the faithful following of their high calling therefore setting forth with those men night or day he passed through the wood of the English until he came to the mountains where on an island in a remote lake dwelt his dear friend Herbert in Hermitage having visited him and held communion with him the holy man took his way fearless through the valleys of the rugged hills and untenanted rocks by a path night obliterated of ancient times going ever southward through the forest by this road his guides the shepherds of the mountains assured him he might the soonest come into Cartmel and traversing a great valley and thereafter hills of no small terror and difficulty he came at last to a hidden place among lofty rocks where beside a lake of water copper is digged in the bowels of the earth and because this working of metals belongs by right to the king and is done at his command under officers appointed by him this place is named Cunningas Tun that is the town or village of the king in this place among rude people of the mines and certain Welsh who tended a few sheep and goats upon the greener pastures of the desert hills there was a church in those days of no great size or beauty being but the inartificial building of the priest who tenanted it for he was an Irishman and one of that sect and heresy blessed Cuthbert himself being infect in his extreme youth and ignorance did afterwards for sake and under the guidance of holy church combat and overcome and utterly extirpates from all the territory of the English it was but some five and twenty years before that Bagar the Abbas had built the house of nuns on the promontory that by the British is called Baruth that is the red headland being come over from Ireland with her following to spread the gospel in these deserts nor is she that Bagar of Hackness of whom Bede makes mention as some do vainly imagine but another who from her house of Saint Bees as the folk of the place call it sent forth one and another into the mountains to shepherd the flock of the Lord and to lead wild goats of the hills as lambs to the fold yet even so her followers were uninstructed in the truth as it is taught to us baptising with but one immersion and shaving the hair across the forehead as the Irish used and keeping the Pascal feast with vitiated calendar at uncanonical time and season though earnest with all in their manner and learned in the scriptures and holy arts this poor man then being come through the wilds to the aforesaid place built there his cell and daubing as some maintain though others will have it of stones plucked from the rough ground and rudely piled together in the form of a round hut though fitting temple but such as he had ability to raise at the Ford where the track through the forest passed over the brook flowing down from the copper mines into the marshland which lies wet and slimy between the foot of the crags and the water of the lake hard by with the cots of the miners and super eminent above them the house of the Reeves set over them by the king these folk the priest had in some measure induced to outward semblance of respect to holy days and the services of the church but by long continuance amongst them had partaking of their uncivil ways not being under obedience to canonical commands he had as it were fallen asleep with none to awaken him and so when Cuthbert the holy man hungered and weary with much travel approached he beheld this poor man sitting thus at the door of the cell that was his church bearded unseemly and unbefittingly attired while through rents in the walls things sacred were revealed to eyes profane and the unthatched roof let in the droppings of birds who nested there upon to fall over the very altar which seeing Cuthbert was moved to anger and compassion saying oh dog of the lord why slumber us thou art thou then indeed one of those dumb dogs of whom it is written that they cannot bark arise and let thy voice be heard call thy flock together for the morrow that I may salve them and this being spoken in the tongue of the Irish which Cuthbert knew right well roused the poor man who blinked upon him and brought forth his bell as it were an iron pot with a stone hanging therein by a rope of bark and he began to rattle it but none answered for it was of a Saturday at evening and all were in like manner ensnared with carnal feasting and sodden with ale then the blessed Cuthbert sighed in spirit and went from house to house seeking for himself and his men where to lay their heads and even the Reeve said churlishly that he would have naught to do with strangers be they who they might so they came to the last cots in the village and there was a very mean house and a poor widow sitting at the door of it who seeing the man of God rose up and made a basins now Cuthbert was tall of stature of a long face and ruddy but meager with fasting and yet of a countenance most benign and shining as the sun and his eyes were as bright as stars and a thick brows that hung over them grey and bushy and the bones of his brows were great and stood forward under the sloping field of his forehead upon his head he wore a lofty miter glistening with crystal and in his hand was the pastoral staff set with many pearls and upon his robes were offerous embroidered with thread of gold seeing this poor widow he blessed her and her house and she bade him enter for that such as she had was at his service within the house which was rudely framed of waddled bows and thatched with broom there was scant space for that company even to stand and one of the disciples plucked the bishop by the sleeve bidding him in a whisper beware of the foulness and contamination of so mean a dwelling but Cuthbert smiled penetrating the darkness with his keen glance beheld upon a bed of heather in the corner two children lying the one a lad of tender years and the other a babe their mother prayed him to forgive their incapacity for said she the lad has blamed himself in the mines where his father was killed a year ago and the baby is sick and there is no one can heal it now of all men whose name has come to our understanding this holy Cuthbert was most like to our lord and saviour in this that he loved little children and was good to them and none of his company wondered when he sat down and taking the babe in his arms kissed it and blessed it and it looked up to him and laughed and in that hour the sickness was abated and then he did in like manner to the lad touching him and stroking his hurt so that in a little while the pain went out of his limbs and he stood up and was utterly healed then came running the daughter of the woman with a vessel in her hand and it was empty for she had gone to find milk for the children but none would give to her and so she returned weeping but Cuthbert laid his hand on her head and blessed her and bade her go to the well and draw water and lo when she poured it was sweet as milk to the taste and as new milk with the cream therein so that this well was reckoned a holy well after that Cuthbert had done this miracle and sitting down some in the house and some at the door the men drew from their wallets the crust that remained and they sucked together they and their hosts and never was merry a supper nor better fair when the holy man had blessed it now when morning was come the noise of these doings had gone forth and a great company was awaiting the worship of these who overnight had despised and rejected him first he went to the little church and there did service in right order then standing in the door he spoke to the people with that eloquence and divine persuasiveness which many a time softened stony hearts in the recesses of ladonian hills and overored the proud in the halls of northumbrian lords and wealthy men and the satraps of the king and when he had done speaking they all with one consent lifted up their voices these kneeling to him and those lifting up rough hands to heaven as if moved by I know not what heavenly inspiration some brought wood and timber others axes and saws yay even the children plucked broom for roofing and in an incredibly brief space of time the reeve leading the way and laboring among them beside his cloak and trappings of dignity the posts of a new and greater edifice were sunk in the earth and the frame as it were of a fair church and house of assembly for all them of the village was marked out for a while the priest stood by as one bewildered and then in faltering words what do ye, my brethren he cried and ye romans in this labour on the lords day in which it is not lawful to do any manner of work but the blessed Cuthbert looked smilingly upon him saying rebuke them not for the Sabbath was made for man and not man for the Sabbath this is a work of mercy and of necessity it is a gladness and no labour to build the lords house on the lords day and with that the priest himself as if smitten with the contagion of fervour threw down his encumbering garments at the bishop's feet and left a hailing and dragging of timber until the sweat dripped from his temples so cheerfully they wrought that by sunset the new house was roofed and if not wholly finished nor a work of perfect architecture still serviceable and ready to be consecrated the witch was done before the blessed Cuthbert took his ways and went on his journey to the region of Cartmel now this is accounted the greatest miracle which St. Cuthbert did in the land for to heal the sick is a great work and to turn water into wine is a wonderful thing but no man by human wit and science alone could impart to sordid souls the greatest of all spiritual gifts as then when by divine grace and the working of heavenly might he made churls charitable End of Part 6 Part 7 of Coniston Tales by W. G. Collingwood this Librivox recording is in the public domain the bow in the cloud the floods were out at Coniston and round the waterhead on road and meadow hour by hour the rising water spread it rained as it had never rained it stormed at each alarm the creaking fir tree mopped and mowed and waved a threatening arm the little crags were out of sight it was so thick that day only their falls like lightning forks glared white upon the grey then baby from the windowsill peered out into the gloom with anxious eyes as one who waits the very crack of doom what is it then my little one come down the mother said you'll scare yourself for older folk had cause to feel afraid oh mother let me stay a while the storm will soon be done I'll tell you when the rainbow comes you know there will be one yes differences must be while men dwell on the outer form there must be strife while flesh is weak and blood is quick and warm the only peace the only truth is that primeval faith that holds the promises of good that looks for rainbow after flood and glory after death End of Part 7 Part 8 of Coniston Tales by W.G. Collingwood this LibriVox recording is in the public domain the story of Thurston at the Thwait the division of High Furness was made in the reign of Henry II in the days of Abbot John Cancefield Dolphin of Kirby and the rest as well as the two monks are historical characters all except the family at the Thwait which place nevertheless may have been a Norse settlement probably the first Norse farmstead in our immediate neighbourhood it is true that no sagas were ever written here but there must have been tales told by the Northmen's descendants which had they been written down would have fallen more or less into saga form thus chapter 1 of the folk that dwell there Thurston Highterman he was Swainson Swain was Thurston's son and their fore-elder was Swain the son of Thurston of the Mere he dwelt at the Thwait that is at Conningston in the land of Hogan by the side of the Mere that was his Mere he was a stout man and a strong man of his hands but elderly and stirred out little from his fields down bank along the water-head and the garths on the Howe for he saw the way things were going and liked it not being a man of the old sort and not given to change most of all he hated King Stephen though he had little love for King Henry that was but ever a good word for the King of Scots that had been reckoned over Lord of these parts in his young days and let folk be with no talk of stirring old use and want now the old use in these parts was that every man was his own man and no king's man was so ever Thurston wedded Gunhild she was Orm's daughter of Kirby, Ni-Girlworth but she was dead their son was Swain and their daughter was Ingeburg Swain was a good farmer but this grieved Thurston that his son should be ever after newfangled ways in farming Chapter 2 How the Kentstale Men Came now it was a day when men came to the Thwait and asked guesting non said nay for many passed by that road what with thing men going to Little Langdale what with Cooper lads and Chapman there would never be a two months time but new faces came by and all were welcome so when they had bite and sup says the head man of them well I know thee Master Thurston by name and better would I know thee by nature with that says he is living easily in his high seat little is there to know but what there is to see I am an old man in the old spot well says the other there is one I serve would be thy friend good friend said he are always good finding true says he this is a good friend and a bad foe I like him the better says Thurston at the Thwait they call him William of Lancaster the other went on thus says Thurston in his beard Splendor Dex says the stranger but thou must like him or lump him and who at thou thrall of him they call Baron to come napping French at me now this was Bernard the Forester and with him was his brother William and they had a half score of men with them and they leaped up and rattled the arrows in their quivers peace lads cried Thurston I'd buy no dirdoms in my hall sit ye down as sup manly I ease lockened then come with me and I will show you some what with that he took his great hauling staff and went forth of the door going stiffly because of his age and of the sickness that was in his knee joints and led them up to his how at back of the hall and bade them to stand in the garth that was atop of the how when you come out of the wood on the how side look ye well said he waving the hauling wand around so that they backed somewhat look ye well and see yon garths and fields folds and cots and the reek rising from the hall of the thwait all this land said he thrusting the wand into the ground all this land my four elders took when it was no man's land all this land they cleared and digged and plowed and tilled all yon cots they built for their thralls and yon haul for themselves and their children two hundred winters they have lived on this spot and I hold it now go back to your lord that calls himself a northman and tell him this if northman he be a northman's hand he shall have if frenchman he be my old knees are none so lish as they were and so the men went back to Kentdale very ill-pleased but as for the baron he looked at that word and was loath to take it ill chapter 3 how two monks came to the thwait now it was another day and two monks came to that gate they were clothed all in woollen and wore white kirtles that were long to the feet and hoods and white scarves they called scapulary and overall for the weather was cold by now black gowns to wrap them in also they had boots they wore none and the thralls gaped at them but Thurston gave them a seat and they broke bread but flesh-meat they would not so much as look at nevertheless they might drink ale and they drank it but not much so when they were fed they began to open out their business and it seemed that one was brother William of Leeds he who afterwards was Celera in the Abbey of St. Mary's why? says Master Thurston it rains Williams nowadays but no harm says he says we like a sup of wet and get it? says the monk and thrive on it? says Thurston for? says the monk he sendeth it on the evil and the good so I have heard tell? says Thurston maybe you think as heathens but many is the time that word has been flung at my head by father John there when we have had our little strifes easily settled father John easily settled man are they not? it is well? said the monk for we of holy church love a man of worth that bows his neck to the yoke that is easy and light and in that hope we come what now? says Thurston to the ale horn as it were our Lord Abboton our house of St. Mary in furnace by the grant of King Stephen a blessed memory whom God forgive? says the old one it is well? says the monk for all men need it and the prayer becomes all that can say it but as I am bid and tell thee our Lord knowing thee to be a true son of the church though is yet lacking we all lack my good sir somewhat of perfection our Lord would have thee know that by such kingly grant this land is in his holding it was never a king's to give broke forth master Thurston and hear a friend friendly wise our Lord Abbot is loath to use violence as violent men of the world use there be those yonder he went on waving his hands to the morning ward would think no more of roof burning and throat cutting than of smoking a wolf out of his earth now of all such our men be free for who dare touch the lands of holy church many I and thy own kin they of Kirby have come into us and what ask we of them burdens, gifts, shames nay, it is honour we show them gifts we give them their burdens as the apostle bids we bear ask master Dolphin thy brother ask Aum or any of the holders of the southlands and be guided but for all answer looked master Thurston across the hall and through the reek of the hearth as one in dream and then slapping his right hand upon the arm of his seat said he see this old settle heart of oak it is and black with eld see yon rafters and borks such blue they be and even yet sound as a bell see the smoke going up for two hundreds of winters never has the spark died out on the hearth holy church we reverence lords we love not thralls we are not and sooner them follow young nithings to their shame i would see the roof of my fathers in a low and lie like a blue coal among the ashes so the monks went home and told the abbot and he took it badly enough chapter 4 how Thurston's house was divided so matters went on for that winter and no stir was made for if the abbot came in with force then he would have the baron against him and if the baron sent his men against the folk of the fells then the abbot would complain of him to the king but they went to work nevertheless by words and promises and threats to bend the holders to their side and so get what they wanted for it is said possession is nine points of the law and in a while swain Thurston's son says he is bidden to Kentdale to guest with the baron there and with much grumbling from his father he goes in his best clothes and back he came boasting of the friendliness of my lord and the kindness of my lady and the new ways of hunting and the weapons he had seen until his old father bade him hold his peace for a fool and then must Ingeburg await the abbot for what father John called a pilgrimage for the good of her soul and will he nil he Thurston must give her horse and horseman like a jay of the fair great houses of the monks and their chapel so rich with carven work and golden gems and the singing of the choir and the preaching of one that spoke to the heart and the goodness of all the holy men and their sufferings at the hands of worldly folk like me grouse Thurston at the thwait and so he abode like one betwixt two fires or a bork of timber to a house building when the oxen are unruly and pulled two ways at once Chapter 5 Doings at the Thing Now midsummer was come and men rode to the thing as of old use and want the matters of the countryside were still talked over at the old spot in little Langdale and folk met there year by year for their sports and their speaking however it were a little avail this time it was said that there would be talk of this new business namely the business of the abbot and the baron and their striving for the fell country so thither rides Thurston at the thwait with his men and there he finds his kinsmen Dolphin and Ulf of Kirby and Aum of Ograve and Ailwood of Broughton and Gil Michael of Merton and Aum Bernolfson of Urswick and Seward and Kettle and others of the old stock because they lived near at hand to him and feared the church and saw what was coming but with these old Thurston would have not to do and when they spoke friendly he passed them by and when the business was opened they spoke for the abbot and praised his rule and their lot and threatened all gainsayers with the ban of the church and house burning and manslaying then spoke up the men out of Westmillan from Amblesideway and Bronolf's head and Kentdale and the Leith and they were for the baron bidding the fell folk think on his might and wealth for, said they, he could crush the whole tale of them as a lad cracks a nut in his teeth and then the old man held up his hand to speak he was tottering with eld and with wrath and the words clove to his tongue and he stood there white and angry being a laughing stock to all but before speech could come on him there was thrusting among the crowd and into it pressed a little man in a long gown swordless and beardless but behind him was a company of bill men and bow men no folk of the fells and around and about the thingstead rode a many men on great horses mailed and helmed with long spears and painted shields and one of them bear a banner that it was the banner of King Henry the little man going boldly up stood on the mount and cried out shrilly as one who speaks a strange tongue and mockingly as one who has his foe at his foot and he said by your leave good men and leech men all by the leave of this good company whatsoever it calls itself the king speaks hear the word of the king and so he fell to reading off a scroll in latin and setting it out in English bit by bit as a lad does with his grammar task Henry Cus Henry Dei Gratia by the grace of God Rex Anglia King of England and so forth and so forth Skiatis Omenes Noe all Adquos to whom presentes Littorai these present letters Pervenerint may come and so forth we have seen the Charter friends by your leave I preterm it to the Latin which is here for your learned inspection and come to the business in plain terms the king sayeth he confirms the grant of Stephen Earl of Bologna and Mortania and late King of England to the Abboton monks of Saint Mary in Furnace giving them all his forest of Furnace and Wagony and so forth and so forth likewise our Lord the King hath seen and thus hereby confirm the grants from the honour of Westmoreland to William of Lancaster of the Barony of Kentdale and so forth and whereas a certain land or lands being forest and debatable ground is or are in dispute betwixt the two namely the Abbey of Furnace and the Barony of Kentdale and whereas for the better holding of the King's peace and the settlement of this realm and proper that such dispute should be determined now therefore the King commands and ordains that 30 good men and true being well acquainted with such land or lands namely the lands in disputes between the Abbey of Saint Mary in Furnace and the Barony of Kentdale do appear before commissioners as hereby constituted and herein after appointed and there and then make oath that they will truly and justly and equally survey a portion and divide the land or lands in the dispute here before mentioned and that such division being made and determined the parties there too are hereby summoned what says the chattering con in a Tonga man may hear quoth thirst unto his son thus much I gather that they have netted the bore and will forthwith flay him and when folks saw a young man leading an old one they made way seeing that he was sick to death Chapter 6 of the withstanding in Newdale Beck Thurston at the Thwaite sat on his how that is a back of his hall in the garth that is now on the how as you come out of the woods on the how side Thurston sat there on a rig of stone that comes up out of the turf and the stone is a blue stone but is waved in the baits like sand of the sea strand and that stone is there to this day Thurston had let do on him his sword that was his father's and his father's father's sword before him and he loosened the strings from the sheath and laid it at thwart his knees and no man spoke to him in Newdale all was still but about noontide when the sun was bright there was a flickering in the trees of Newdale where Newdale Beck comes out from betwixt Raven Crag and Newdale Crag and in a while a company of people had seen some a foot, some a horse coming down the Beck bottom as it were down a road now these were the company of the 30 men who had taken oath to divide the land of the fells according to the bidding of Henry and their dividing was on the wise first they compassed the country round about beginning even from little Langdale and going by the broad water that is Brathay to the head of Winandamere and then by Leven to Greenod and then they made the boundary from the Thingstead to Renshaws and so down the Dudden to Broughton and the Sands and lastly they harbred the land so marked out for they came beating the bounds from the Brathay to Tillsburgthwaite and from Tillsburgthwaite down Newdale Beck and so to the head of Thurston's water and down the father shore of Thurston's water to Craig but by now they were come into Dale and the array of their company was seen flashing and moving in the Noonday sunlight in the Dale betwixt the crags and the woods where in the tarnes are which when the old man saw he stood up and held his sword in his right hand and passing out of the garth door he went slowly down the hill that was his how and stood in the Beck that was his Beck wading knee deep in the brown water and standing there so still that the trout nestled and nosed against his knees when suddenly by a bend of the river the foremost of the 30 sworn men came in sight and it was Dolphin of Kirby who knowing that land right well was the guide and leader in their wayfaring and he was the brother of Thurston's wife whom when Thurston saw he bade him stand and asked him by what right he thus entered his land with men not unarmed brother said he no brother cried the old man I know thee not if thou be not that niffing of the north men that thrall of the monks that betrayer of thy kin peace old man cried they all and let the king's warrant pass fiend take ye all shrieked the old man and his eyes were flashing and his face trembling foul fall your king as nithing's all and he spat upon them and heaved up his brand to fall upon the foremost crying out with a great cry but even in that cry he fell and lay there flat in the water and when men stooped to lift him up there was no life in him Chapter 7 Bering of Thurston after that went Swain Thurston son to Dalton to speak the priest there of the burying of his father that was dead for folk of these parts must go even so far to get Kirk burial but the priest he was brother to the Abbot of Furnace said that one who had fallen in resisting the church and the king's men and with ill words in his mouth should have no Christian burial at his hands and so they buried him on his how and poor folk wept for him and so ends the story End of Part 8 Part 9 of Coniston Tales by W. G. Collingwood this LibriVox recording is in the public domain the ballad of young Beaumont in the time of Edward III Sir John Elland Sheriff in Yorkshire attacked Quarmbay Hall and slew Sir Robert Beaumont his two boys and widow went to Townley in Lancashire and Brereton in Cheshire where they lived until the lads were grown up then with young William Lockwood son of another victim of Elland they met Lacy Dawson and Hay at Cromwell Bottom near Brighouse and killed Elland after which they fled to Furnace Fells 1346 in or about 1363 they returned to Yorkshire and tried to recover their patrimony but were set upon by the people and slain in 1346 the Fleming of Coniston was Sir John who was succeeded in 1353 by his elder son Richard the ballad is such as would give the tradition of our local Robin Hood after some generations had blurred and confused it in 1350 to 1360 there was probably no park though there were deer there were no tall chimneys though there was a Coniston Hall not certain what was the age of the spring's bloomery though I think it may have been in working about the time of the story when grass was green and shores were sheen young Adam of Beaumont's gone to hunt the row and the fallow-dough in the park of Coniston for he has slain the proud Elland that did his father quell and he has fled with his merry men all to the woods of Furnace Fells there's Adam and his younger brother and Lacy and Lockwood's Will and Dawson Tuff and Hayer the Clough that the sheriff's life did spill and they have tamed to the Furnace Fells their outlaw it abide but little they wreck of the outlaws doom and little their deeds they hide in satirthweights they house them in a safe and sure bigging all for to drive the Abbots deer and the deer of the proud Fleming and the deer of the proud Fleming and the deer of the proud Fleming so now when dew was white on grass or ever the morn was red they tripped so light or Griesdale more and turned the water head and the Granger woke as he heard them pass and cuddled him closer in bed foul and folk were sound asleep toughed and town were dark and Coniston Hall was steaked and still when they break into Coniston Park swiftly ran the good greyhound and sharply twang the bow and for every flight the arrow flew a heart was lying aloe come big we hear a bright bonfire and brittle a heart of grease hold now your hand my brethren deer and break your fast in peace his venison steaks would feast a duke and drink that never will fail it is my proper tap quaffee for they call it Adam's Ale Sir John he waked and Sir John he winked is the lathe of fire quaffee ne ne Sir John is a pitstead reeks the quiet said his lady Dickon looked out the young Fleming and Robin looked out his fear and as they stood at the grey garth yet a laugh on the breeze they hear the woodland thieves are breaking our park and taking our fallow deer forth they went with their miny they were six men and a score now will you fight or will you flee for we be twenty more Adam he drew a good Yubo and Will and his fellows all but a score still stood in a lawn of the wood though six of the foes should fall a boat a boat cried young Lacey and a boat cried Wiley Will now stand ye rogues cried Robin and Dick will be upsized with ye still by thirst and water there's a spot he'll ken the springs for sure where smithy folk should land a boat the leading of the yore cut her a drift lads Adam he cried I'll hold them while ye board but even as she took the water away he's fallen on the lair he swore I rescue I rescue cried they then and backed upon the ore but up there came the Fleming's men and he's down beneath a score now fare ye well my merry men all farewell to the morrow's mourn will stop thy false tongue Dick and ye growled and gagged his mouth in scorn so John sat on his high harseet now fetch the rascal here to be judged for shooting of my men and for slaughtering of my dear for these two deeds that thou hast done is each a felony to think tonight upon thy sins thou on the hangman's tree the gag was rugging at his teeth his hands and feet were fast and beards wagged all in Coniston Hall they tamed the thief at last and never a soul would rue the mourn but one her name I'll tell that was the lady's bowermaden and they called her Kirstie Bell it was Kirstie here and Kirstie there and Kirstie filled for me but I as he sat on the Russian floor he followed her with an E so lighter foot so fair a face and a look so soft and kind and oh thinks he could I win me forth she never should bide behind so John was merry the lady laughed and Dick and him Robb can sing last take ye on day for supper veil for a health to our lord the king it will put him in heart to play his part on the mourn the proud Fleming how can he speak if his mouth be stopped says Dick, take out the gag how can he stand if his feet be fast says Robb and let them wag how can he drink if his hands be tied why so says Kirstie Bell and sned the cord with a carving knife or ever the shouting fell the bicker was in his left hand and the wittle was in his right here's to the king cried Adam Beaumont and the lads I'll meet tonight or when folk were feigned to flee when they saw young wittles shine but their feet were all in a snarl with ale and their eyes were mazed with wine and man there was a dirdom and ever they cleared the hall there were folk beneath the table board and up the chimney tall away away my bunny lad it is no time to lake will you agree and flip with me and never a step I take he clipped her up betwixt his arms as a shepherd carries a lamb and there are floats in the little cock boat the banest gate for ham and while she'd laugh and while she'd greet and the stars shone bright a boon and ay but life and love was sweet by the light of a hunter's moon end of part nine part ten of Coniston tales by W. G. Collingwood this LibriVox recording is in the public domain the hermit of Monk Coniston it is often asked by readers of the lake Dr. Gibson's ramblings and ravings round the old man whether his legends are founded on fact or mere inventions of his own that of the hermit at bankground was based on a tradition preserved by the old statesman family there who used to show a well which like another between far end and the village had some repute as a holy well it is likely that there was a hermit or more than one in succession on the spot where the bank's family afterwards made their ground as a set off to the rollicking 19th century tale of Father Brian I have tried to sketch the portrait of a real hermit from authentic records in the middle of the 14th century certain Yorkshire nuns wrote the life of Richard Roll of Hampole preacher, author and hermit they prepared it in the form of an office or service to be used in celebrating his feast day for they hoped that the pope would canonize him as indeed was well deserved for no man has ever written more nobly of the love of God and the life of the Christian than Richard Roll he was one of those born saints of the age whether the nun's petition never reached the pope or whether the devil's advocates prevailed we know not Richard is not on the calendar but his life and works remain in medieval English and medieval Latin to show us what a real hermit might be if we need assurance that the faith was not without witnesses in an age we call dark and earring fancy then for a moment such lived here and that the house of Furness put in their claim for him on this wise in the florid Latin of their day they would have written fragment from an unedited manuscript of Furness Abbey that's blessed John who for the honeyed sweetness of his eloquence and the golden sentences of his wisdom might rightly be called a second Johannes Chrysostomus in the original parts of England but his parents being of the North country and loving the mountainous rudeness of this their fatherland more than the urbane enjoyment of the south brought him yet as a child into these regions by which habitude and early dwelling beside the outspread waters of our lakes and beneath the wooded rocks of remote of Alice there was instilled into him such awe of the divine wonders which to many another are but a terror and a stumbling block that even in his infantile age he sang with rare sweetness the glories of the creator in these his manifold and marvellous works Sam Levavi Oculos Etc. Footnote, these Psalms and hymns are intended to be sung to enliven and vary the collation or reading of the office upon the feast day of the saint. End of footnote Nor was his mind on other matters uninformed for by the industry of his parents he was set to learn the rudiments of worldly letters and being proficient in Latin was put to the University of Oxford where he studied not without praise and early reputation thereafter voyaging in foreign parts from town to town of Gallia and Burgundia even onto the holy city he sought the converse of the learned and the study of such things as remain from ancient times in order to perfect himself in arts and sciences both humane and divine and in due course being made doctor and teacher in the said University by his eloquence he attracted by his exhortations improved and by his erudition informed the studious youth who flocked to him together with many of their elders both in Oxford and elsewhere in whatsoever place he appeared another Abelardus teaching and preaching a spiritual philosophy footnote the passage following is closely copied from the life of Richard showing that it was known to the furnace scribe end of footnote admirable indeed and profitable with this wonderful man's outpourings and sacred illustrations with which he brought many a hero out of darkness into light and moreover in his mellifluous tractate some books composed for the edification of the world how many a period still re-echoes the sweetest harmony in the souls of those that have read with understanding how many a word of warning still rules its thunders in the quaking hearts of those that have heard and trembled at the storm of his righteous indignation here follow verses in praise of his eloquence starting his goods among the poor he denuded himself of golden silver giving to these precious stones and to those his books and images of price thus laying up greater and more enduring treasure in heaven of all rules of religion he chiefly esteemed the Cistercian not for learning nor for power but being led by his philosophy not falsely so called toward the virtue of bodily toil felicitis of pastoral life in which the Cistercians do exercise themselves fulfilling the command in the sweat of thy brow etc for in this rule he found rightly balanced and intermixed the contemplative with the active and the double blessing of faith and works enjoyed so being come with the remnant of that he had to furnace he was received with joy as one about to do honour the adoption with his substance and his fame and to edify men with the example of his life and the wisdom of his teaching verses in praise of the Cistercian rule thus remaining for a space in all humility and yet in labour abundant it seemed that he might be chosen to high place, yay even to end his days in the dignities of lordship and the chair of the abbot but for our faults not permitted and for his own greater glory hereafter greater things were in store for him there is a certain piece of water within the liberties of the lordship of Saint Mary's by name the water of Terstinus or in the English tongue it is Lithorstain's water around this lake stand huge and well night inaccessible mountains and especially along the oriental shores of it arise steep hills thickly beset with ancient trees such as oaks, beaches, hollies and so forth non-inhabit there saving it's be woodcutters and hearthmen in the service of our lord abbot for the burning of iron ore which they carry thither on the backs of horses from pits in allen scales and ore grave and elsewhere but on the adverse coast lie certain houses of the tenants of Saint Mary's at a place called Lothwate and beyond the water of Ued Albeck is Conningston and the hall of a good night father at the time of Sir John Fleming who now holds of our lord footnote this fixes the date for there were two Sir John's father and son of whom the second died 1353 end of footnote else is old desert and forest land until you come to Hawkinshavert at the farther side of certain mountains now with permission of our lord and conducted by men who knew the land is the blessed Johann come to the water and brought in a boat to the farthest headland of the shore and there set down with little pomp in the thickest part of the wood beyond that region which the colliers and workers of iron had here to for penetrated it was surely by some providence that he found even in these wilds a little hut left by a certain woodcutter and empty though ruinous and hardly keeping the rain from his body the witch by labour being restored into some fitness of use he inhabited requiring little and content with that which others scorned more verses so barbarous as to be untranslatable many are the wonderful histories yet in the mouths of all concerning the deeds of this blessed man how he dwelt there alone improving the solitude with heavenly converse and wrestling with the demons which infest the darkness of the waste for victual he had that which the wood afforded him and the little plot of land which with his own hands the rough growth of wildings being eradicated he tilled and set with fruit and herbs moreover they of the place knowing that the sanctity had come upon their homes through his presence would visit him their little offerings of the fish or a handful of meal and from the hither bank of the water would come in their boats the children of the neighbors dwelling at the thwait and round about whom he received gladly telling them indeed but little of that philosophy for which he had been sought and was still famed but things suited to their infantile understanding as one who had learned the secrets of the world and set no store by them of herbs and healing things such as he had in daily habitude before his eyes as the scripture says from the cedar tree etc and beasts and foul and creeping things were his brethren resorting to him and as Adam in the paradise he welcomed them each by name knowing well their ways and needs yea even the elements were obedient to him for there is a certain spring of water the rest of the story is hardly decipherable it seems to refer to the miracle by which the virtues of this holy well were established and goes on to relate the hermit's dealings with the flaming family how the elder son William was struck with an incurable disease and the daughter Joan was married to John the Towers of Loic which we know happened in 1333 there is mention of two tenants of the Loic family Thomas the Nicholas child and set to the descent end of part 10 part 11 of Coniston Tales by W.G. Collingwood this LibriVox recording is in the public domain the Liga of Carlisle it is told in the book of the Reverend Hugh Todd Doctor in Divinity and sometime a Preventary of Carlisle how the Scots in the year 1382 having burnt Penrith and a part of Carlisle were put to flight by the appearance of a great army which was shown them by a lady thought to be the Blessed Virgin Mary the patroness of the city for which cause her impress with our saviour in her arms is the public seal of the corporation to this day Oh yonder comes a weather-lam and yonder comes a yow and yonder comes a young lad and what's the tidings now Sheppard lad whistling blithe and gay with a white ling in the bonnet is it good news today Oh lassies hark and hither it's tidings and it's true doings of a lady fair that never man could do Nay then Sheppard lad sit thee down and tell a tales a tale he done a tale so far beyond the fell You can't the Scots were raiding Nay how should we be told and Perrith Castle was a low good lord they wax and bold and when they caught till Carlisle town the Kesson fire therein they burned to street here ladies sweet they wrought a deadly sin now fair before your faces and fair's the word you say and fair is yonder lady that keeps the town today young lad Sheppard's lad thy riddles hard at reed it's she that stands for Mary Carlisle and who's so good at doing it was about the gloaming and folk were all foredone with hungering sore and fighting hard from dawn till set a sun the leager of the Scottish thieves was round about the town and tonight said they or break of day young towers shall topple down and it was about the gloaming a lady mort they spy a barn she bear on her arm so fair and softly trip she by stand they cried and yield me now but she ever smiled the more good men I seek we achieve to speak the need is a passing sore thy errand will you know it my errand answered she then turn you round and gaze astound yonder on Harryby and low upon the landward edge they saw a fairly thing a grand array as clear as day and the banner of the king no more they stayed for babe nor maid when that fairly thing they spied but devil tack the hindermost was all the bravest cried and this ran and that ran throw heart and heartstrings crack till Esk was won and flight was done they never looked aback it was the castle warder and he looked from Carlisle wall the red was on the little clouds and the night began to fall he saw the host on Harryby he saw the lady speak he saw the scott flit or the woth like sparkles through the reek he blew a note on his bugle horn and up the nule stair who skips a mane but's a captain who puffs but master mare and bells ring out and windows shine and the bishop in golden weed he cries to the folk in the minster isle how a lady stands for merry Carlisle and who so good at need now glows the marvel as you may and deem it all a lie but so the town was kept and saved five hundred years gone by and hardy heads of cumbrium breed and hands that loved a sword for Carlisle's public seal decreed to grave in memory of the deed these whom they knew their best at need their lady and their lord end of part eleven part twelve of coniston tales by W. G. Collingwood this Librivox recording is in the public domain epilogue duster mined when we were barns brother, what holiday lakes we had when thew was nobber to Lyland and I was a mandarin lad and this enters away for a lurepul set louse from two in at school for lonter in months of summer and rattling weeks of yule here to Brex we had together and tall spots of Rian by the side of Windermere water duster mined them Davy-man for now those name here to Lyland they tell me those cumped on fine what coach and six horses is now tult near its electric railway line before cause buck or ocean and cracks are there doing with praise see happen those gittin' all grandlike that care for taintian days but near lad as upward it thou'sen in sick and outer doubt as forgets all days old friends though it's thretty year send by now what were rambles he copy and larchwood were climbs at cherry tree were trots at buck lawn snar when a blaze and moon was he ethanines it's lathe at a border sloughed with chips and amaran nails can thrive in a deck for to send to board or cut in a suit of sails and needs be a good chat fire we darm cookin' poddish and tates an old billy a spin in his yarns while he fettled his trawlin' baits sick teals as he used to tell us and a many he can't stood will there was Hugh to giant a trout-beck and Adam a rattle-gill Rouse with scotch rebels he cored him and fawn as monks lang sin and to basick boggle and to bee-chill yarn there was boggles he plenty then he's gone now poor old billy and to dame and to good old folk and many's to chains in iron yeas sat under his wrangle-broke why has git an alde myself and it's my turn now for a yarn and we've beefed on his barns of our own an out-caps teals for a barn if it's not but an alde hair-reap will ye tack it we love for a heme for it's twine don't seem ald creeks and a deal at stuff's to seam if it's telt in a heme-ly way as to all folk used at crack then read it as do knazow do seen fin trick-core back appen it's fond but I'm feign at a reet warm spotsud bide it's brus to thy barns for a heme on round world ripe aside it's grand where at southern cross leets up there sky of a low yet twine rolls round where northern fells in a land a long ago it's bonny there garden-bower of a summery Christmas day but ye were young where sweet gale grows see far and far away End of Part 12 End of Coniston Tales by W. G. Collingwood read by Phil Benson in Sydney, Australia