Old-fashioned Christmas Doings At The English Lakes

( Originally Published 1902 )

IT all seems like a dream as I sit here in my lodging at the Heads and watch the water of the Lake carried in scud of fifty feet high from the west to the eastern shore, see the Island momently blotted from sight, watch the waves white upon the topmost ledges of Friars Crag and note the rain battalions marching to the assault of Walla's wooded steep. I can hardly believe that I spent an all-golden afternoon upon Skiddaw last Friday, and saw Christmas come into the Keswick vale beneath clear sky and stars.

I was tired of the fog and the filth of the town, men choked in Manchester and coughed at Preston. Red and angry glared the sun, and it was not till we reached Lancaster that he at all put on his natural colour. As we climbed the Shap Fells he faded into whiteness, but at Penrith he was fair and good to behold. Thence all the way to Keswick he rejoiced the heart, and when I stepped on to the Keswick platform, so brilliant shone the Latrigg woods, so gleamed Lake Derwentwater, so flashed the Greta at the weir, that one almost felt May-day had come again and forgot that it was Christmastide.

Not that any could forget that who passed down the little Viking town's Main street. Such Christmas fare in butchers and in poulterer's shop was never seen. Where are the mouths that can make meat scarce in Keswick ?" I thought to myself, but I spoke aloud. .

" Cush man," said an old fellow who over-heard me, " its nowt to wat was i' vogue i' my daay. Theer was mebbe not sic pride-wark aboot fat beasts nor sic feather-wark wi' tukkeys and aw this hangment o' geese. Fwoaks plucked geese at haem moastly what i' them daays oor pens was to mek, and beds was to fill. But theer's nae sic Kursmas fare as theer yance was hereaboot. I am going 83, and I can mind, for I leeved i' t' deales aw my daays."

Here was a chance not to be lost of a ` crack,' as Cumbrians call it, about old-fashioned Christmases in the Lake Country ; and finding the old fellow was on his way to Southey's Church to look after the 'decorators,' and seeing that I was fain to visit the laureate's tomb, we jogged on together.

" Well, you see," said my friend, " theer's no 'raised pies ' nowadays. Theer's scarce a woman-body knaws how to mak 'stannin' pie i' the dales now. But i' my daays ivvery house had its haver-bread and its 'stannin' pie at Kursmas."

I soon found that 'standing pie or raised pie' was a kind of pork pie in shape and build.

" Ay, ay," went on the old man, "girt yarkin pies they were and aw. Why we wad be laaten wood for kindlin' hearth-oven for weeks befoor Kursmas ; ivvery house hed its hearth-oven in them daays."

" Where did you live," said I.

"Leev! I nivver leeved; I've been a wukking man from first to last. My native was Wyburn, and I was sarvin' man for a gay lock o' years at Armboth, whoar Waterwuks is at ; it belengs th' Cooperative now ; you hev likely heard tell of it?"

It was a coincidence, that come from Manchester I should have chanced upon the very man who could best tell me of how in olden time the Statesmen made merry at Christmas on the lands that are now possessed by our Corporation. I made the most of my chance.

"Well, i' my daays theer was nowt nobbut i' the daale for a fortnight or three weeks after Kursmas. Farmers did nowt nobbut tend the cattle. Ivvery house tied its Kursmas party, and all the daale was axed, sarvints and masters. They began at yan end o' daale and finished at t' 'udder. Then when the old folks hed hed their party, ivvery house had a do fur childer. Theer was dancin' and cardin' and what not, and raised pie fur ivver. "

I remembered as the old man laughed to think of the good days in Wythburn valley how Wordsworth had written of the fiddlers :

"The minstrels played their Christmas tune
Tonight beneath my cottage eaves,"

and said, " Did you have any music or carols in the valley when you were young ?"

" Music, " said the ancient, " by gocks theer was some music than. Why, o' Kursmas Eve the fiddler and fiddler's man began down theer at ' Fornsett ' and called at ivvery house i' the daale. Crossed over to Legbuthwaite, cam' oop by Thrispot, and went to Armboth Hall for lunch at midneet. I was at Armboth than, and many a time I have gone round with fiddler and fiddler man, best part o' the man-bodies wad gang an' aw. It wad be deeth to leave oot a house, sae ye may kna it wad tek a bit of fiddling, for theer was a tune played to ivvery naame."

"What do you mean?" I said.

" Why, fiddler's man wad stan' and caw out name of master, mistress, barns, men sarvints, lasses one by one, and then fiddler wad play a tune for each name. Then fiddler man wad mek his bow, and wish a happy Kursmas, and them as was naamed wad gie him a ribbin, which he wad stick i' his hat. By goy, I hev seen his girt boxer-hat stuck wi' hundreds o' ribbins in my time. Then fiddler man wad dance intil oppen door, and theer wad be drinks aw round, a deal mair than some fwoak cud carry. Eh, man, but we hev bedded many a decent man haufway round t' daale, in my time."

" But what did they do at Armboth?" said I, for I felt that the 'Co-operative,' as the old man called them, might perhaps like to revive an ancient custom.

"Well, at Armboth, i' my time the most gártikkler thing was the Tree we snigged with horses to burn in the kitchen fire. Sometimes a yak (oak), sometimes a pine, but in it went thro' winder, and as it burned itsel' away upon the hearth-stone, it was pushed up mair and mair, and wad burn for weeks together, till the whole length of it was burned away."

" Did they keep the end of it to light the next Christmas fire with?" I said, thinking of old British and Viking customs.

" No, not as I can mind. Theer was a girt lunch for aw that came o' Kursmas Eve, stannin' pie, and mince pies, and apple pasties, and aw maks o' things. And I mind oor master was most partikkler of fiddler ganging reet round house and barnstead to finish oop wi' efter all."

What a delightful bit of charm-music was that, thought I. " And what did the fiddler man do with his hat and the ribands that were stuck in it?"

" Dea wi' ribbins ? " said my old friend. "Why, gev tham back o' merry-neet, to be sure. Fiddler gev a merry-neet week efter Kursmas at ' Horse Head' ; you'll likely ken Inn o' that name at Wyburn?"

I remembered that I had seen it last summer when the coaches drew up there, and I got as good a cup of tea as it has been my lot to taste in Lakeland. " Oh yes," I replied, " it is called ' Nag's Head' now."

"Happen 1t may, it moastly got 'Horse Head' i' them daays. Well, I was tellin' you theer was a merry-neet at ' Horse Head,' and fwoaks cam fra far away fra Gres-mer, fra Ambleseed, fra Kessick, and aw the lasses and lads es hed gien the fiddler man ribbins claimed them that neet. It was to let fiddler man ken who war there, for there mud be a gatherin' for him. And a gay lock o' brass he maade by his merry-neet an aw."

We had now got down to the Crosthwaite Church, of which I found my old friend was trusted guardian. He took me to Southey's grave, and said, " Mr. Southey was partikkler fond of Kursmas 'dos' and sic like, couldn't abeer chaange o' customs, and I hev heard tell that Wordswuth was jest sic anudder. But than times must alter, ye kna ; it's mebbe for best, but theer's no 'raised-pies' nor haver-bread, nor hearth-ovens nor nowt "—" nor fiddlermen," I interposed " saame as when I was a boy."

I shook hands and turned for Skiddaw ; the mountain burned like transparent gold ; and the larches on Latrigg in softest amber beauty bade me climb the height. As I went, I said to myself, it was worth coming all the way from Manchester for such a talk about old times, let alone all the beauty and the quiet of Christmas air and sunshine in the Keswick vale. For now I could understand what Wordsworth meant when he wrote of the Fiddler's tune at Christmas time, that verse :

"And who but listened ! till was paid
Respect to every inmate's claim :
The greeting given, the music played,
In honour of each household name
Duly pronounced with lusty call,
And ` Merry Xmas' wished to all. "