Part 6

If your apron falls off, someone is thinking of you.

Those who can always guess the time accurately will never be married.

If the nose itches, you will be annoyed; if the foot, you will travel.

Itching of the right hand, money is coming to you; of the left, that you will have to pay money; of the ear, hearing sudden news.

If the right ear tingles, someone is defaming you.

If you shiver, someone is walking over your grave.

A blessing is still invoked on people when they sneeze.

Meeting eyebrows are fortunate; so is a mole on the neck, at least, it means health to the owner, but some say that it brings him in danger of hanging.

Always enter a house with your right foot first; to enter with the left foot brings ill luck to the inhabitants, and you must go back and repair the mistake.

If you stumble, by accident, in going upstairs, you will be married the same year; the same if you snuff out the candle (this omen is becoming rarer with the decline of tallow candles).

If two people wash their hands in the same basin, they are sure to quarrel before bedtime, but this may be prevented by making the sign of the cross over the water.

If your eyes are weak, have your ears pierced, it will benefit them.

If a loaf be turned upside down after cutting, it is unlucky. Along the coast they say that it causes a ship to be wrecked. The same if three candles are placed upon the table.

If a loaf breaks in the hand while cutting it, you part man and wife.

And spilling the salt is as ominous here as elsewhere, but you may amend your luck by throwing a pinch three times over your left shoulder with your right hand.

"Help me to saut, help me to sorrow," would be the answer to the person who should offer to place salt on the plate of another.

To cross the knife and fork is a sign of bad luck. To give a knife cuts love; it should always be paid for. Only last Christmas I gave a knife to an old friend, and she punctiliously sent a penny to me in payment for it.

Do not lend a pin, your friend may take one, but it is unlucky to give it.

Never begin anything on Friday, it will not prosper.

If you must pass under a ladder, cross your fingers and wish. The unsophisticated spit; and if you are walking with anyone wait for him to speak first, and any ill luck that may be coming will fall on his head.

"Spitting for luck" is still common enough. Hucksters and fish-women spit on the handsel (the first money they receive), and many horsedealers do the same. Colliers, when considering a strike, used to spit on one stone together, by way of cementing their confederacy, and schoolboys used to spit their faith when making a challenge to fight. This was considered a sacred pledge which it was thought a point of honour to fulfil.

It is wrong to point at the stars, or even to count them; you may be struck dead for doing so.

Hawthorn blossoms should not be brought into the house; they are as unlucky as peacock’s feathers, which also should never be brought indoors.

And evergreens should not be burnt.

"If you burn green, Your sorrow’s soon seen."

The luck of three is much believed in. If you fail twice in trying to do a thing, you will probably succeed in the third trial. "The third time’s catchy time."

Servants say that if they break one thing they are sure to break three, a foreboding which not seldom comes true.

And when the minute-bell of the cathedral rings once it is bound to ring three times.

If you break a looking-glass, you will have no luck for seven years. Some say that it betokens a death in the house, probably that of its master.

If a black cat enters the house, it must by no means be turned away, for it brings good luck.

"Wherever the cat of the house is black, The lasses of lovers will have no lack."

Kittens born in May are unlucky and useless, never keep them.

It is lucky, when you see the first lamb of the year, if its head is turned towards you; but unlucky, if its tail.

It is thought that hedgehogs suck cows as they lie asleep.

A toad is poisonous; do not touch it.

In all ages the flight and behaviour of birds have been thought worthy of notice.

When setting hens, the number of eggs should be odd (generally eleven or thirteen); if the number be even, you will have no chickens. A hen that crows brings ill luck, just as does a woman who whistles.

If the hens come into the house, or if the cock crows on the threshold, a visitor is coming. If you have money in your pocket and turn it when you first hear the cuckoo you will be rich all that year; but if your pocket be empty so it will remain. There is a small bird attending on the cuckoo, generally a meadow-pipit. It is called in Durham the cuckoo’s sandy, and is supposed to provide its patron with food.

When the peacock screams, it is going to rain.

The magpie is an unlucky bird because it would not go into the ark with Noah, but sat outside, "jabbering at the drowned world."

"One is sorrow, two mirth, Three a wedding, four a birth, Five heaven, six hell, Seven the de’il’s ain sel’!"

But if you have the misfortune to see one magpie you may nullify the omen by making the sign of the cross, or, as some do, by waving a hand at the evil bird, and saying, "Mag, I defy thee."

The raven is thought to be an unlucky bird, though here in Durham city we should think better of it, for one made the fortune of Sir John Duck by dropping a gold piece at his feet when he was a poor out-of-work butcher-boy. He became a rich coal-owner, and in his memory coals are often called "ducks" in Durham; and the "Old Duck Main" still exists at Rainton.

If rooks, or crows, as we call them here, desert a rookery, it means the downfall of the family on whose property it is. Swallows, once sacred to the Penates, and honoured as the heralds of the spring, are lucky, and their nests must never be pulled down, as they bring good fortune to the place where they build, and it bodes ill luck if they leave a place they have once tenanted.

Naturally, much local lore has gathered round the cathedral, the great Mother-Church of the diocese. The death superstition relating to the minute-bell, the ringing of the Pancake Bell, and the legend of the knocker, have already been mentioned. The Curfew Bell still rings at nine (the hour of compline), not at eight, as in other places, but never on Saturday, because on the night of that day a man, who went alone to ring, was spirited away, and never seen again.

When, on May 29, the choristers go to the central tower, they sing anthems on three sides only, and except the western side, because it was from this point that the man leaped whose tombstone is seen below. It is a mutilated effigy of Frosterly marble, and is said to represent Hob of Pelaw, holding the purse of money for which he risked and lost his life, and the fossils in the marble are said, by schoolboys, to be the coins contained in it. Country people come, for some unknown reason, to draw their foot over the purse.

Curiously, the churchyard here is on the north side of the church. The cloisters are ceiled with Irish oak, so that they never harbour dust or cobwebs, and the saying goes that if the Protestants were not always doing something to the cathedral the Catholics could take it away from them!

There is no church at Butterby, and you will often hear a man who is not in the habit of attending Divine worship spoken of as a "Butterby churchgoer."

These old-world beliefs and stories are fast fading away before the advance of the schoolmaster; but they linger yet in the minds of old people, and it will be long before they are quite forgotten.

[Illustration: THE PALACE GREEN, DURHAM.]

THE LEGENDS[6] OF DURHAM

BY MISS FLORENCE N. COCKBURN

The northern counties are all rich in legendary history, and the county of Durham has its full share.

Curiously, instead of most of the legends being of an ecclesiastical nature, as one would naturally expect in a county where the Church has predominated for many centuries, the contrary is the case. All the best-known legends are of deadly war waged with some uncouth or venomous monster, in which, without exception, some local hero, Jack-the-Giant-Killer-like, comes off victorious.

_The Dun Cow._

Visitors to Durham rarely leave without having the sculptured panel representing the famous Dun Cow on the cathedral front pointed out to them.

The legend runs that the monks, having fled from Chester-le-Street and rested with the body of the saint for some time at Ripon, were desirous of returning to Chester. "Coming with him (St. Cuthbert) on the east side of Durham to a place called Ward-lawe, they could not with all their force remove his body from thence, which seemed to be fastened to the ground, which strange and unexpected accident wrought great admiration in the heart of the bishops, monks, and their associates, and, ergo, they fasted and prayed three days with great reverence and devotion, desiring to know by revelation what they should do with the holy body of St. Cuthbert, which thing was granted unto them, and therein they were directed to carry him to Dunholme (Durham). But being distressed because they were ignorant where Dunholme was, see their good fortune. As they were going a woman that lacked her cow did call aloud to her companion to know if she did not see her, who answered with a loud voice that her cow was in Dunholme, a happy and heavenly echo to the distressed monks, who by that means were at the end of their journey, where they should find a resting-place for the body of their honoured saint."

[Illustration: THE DUN COW.]

_The Brawn of Brancepeth._

At what time the brawn, or boar, ceased to exist as a wild animal in Britain is uncertain, but it was at one time a common inhabitant of our British forests, and protected by the law in the tenth and eleventh centuries.

The village of Brancepeth (a corruption of Brawn’s path) is said to have derived its name from a formidable brawn of vast size, which made his lair on Brandon Hill, and walked the forest in ancient times, and was a terror to all the inhabitants from the Wear to the Gaunless. The marshy, and then woody, vale extending from Croxdale to Ferry Wood was one of the brawn’s favourite haunts. According to tradition, Hodge of Ferry, after carefully marking the boar’s track near Cleves Cross, dug a pitfall, slightly covered with boughs and turf, and then, toiling on his victim by some bait to the treacherous spot, stood, armed with his good sword, across the pitfall--“at once with hope and fear his heart rebounds."

At length the gallant brute came trotting on its onward path, and, seeing the passage barred, rushed headlong on the vile pitfall to meet its death. It is generally believed that this champion of Cleves sleeps in Merrington churchyard, beneath a coffin-shaped stone, rudely sculptured with the instruments of the victory--a sword and spade on each side of a cross.

Another stone, supposed to be the remnant of a cross, stands on the hill near the farm of Cleves Cross, and is said to have probably been raised on the same occasion. It was not unusual, in England or abroad, when a man had slain a boar, wolf, or spotted pard, to bear the animal as an ensign in his shield. We believe that the seal of Roger de Ferry still remains in the treasury at Durham, exhibiting his old antagonist, a boar passant. The seal of his daughter Maud, wife of Alan of Merrington, shows the boar’s head erased.

_The Pollard Boar._

A family of the name of Pollard was seated at an early period in the parish of Bishop Auckland; and one of their estates was called Pollard’s Dene, and the ceremony of presenting a falchion to the Bishop soon after his entrance into the See was performed by the possessors of Pollard’s lands.

The legend of how a Pollard gained this land runs as follows:

The King offered to anyone who would bring the head of a wild boar, which destroyed man and beast, to his palace "a princely guerdon," and the Bishop of Durham, who passed the greater part of the year at Auckland Castle, having also promised a large reward, a member of the ancient family of Pollard determined to kill the brute, or die in the attempt. So this courageous knight armed himself, mounted his trusty steed, and rode to the lair of the boar, and noted its track. After tying his horse to a tree, out of its regular course, he climbed a beech-tree under which the monster often passed, and shook down a large quantity of ripe beechmast.

There he waited until the boar came, and had the satisfaction of seeing it make a good meal. In time it showed signs of drowsiness, and commenced moving from the place. Pollard, feeling that the time had come for action, made an onslaught on the boar. After so hearty a meal, it was not in a fighting humour, but nevertheless made a fierce resistance, and taxed to the utmost the prowess of the knight. The encounter lasted the greater part of the night, and the welcome rays of the sun burst forth as he severed the head from the trunk of the boar. Having cut out its tongue and placed it in his wallet, he decided to rest for a short time under a tree; but a deep sleep overcame him, and led to a serious disappointment, for when he awoke he discovered that the head had been taken away. He was in great despair, for he had not the trophy to take to the King to obtain the promised prize; so, mounting his horse, he rode to the Bishop and told his tale, and, showing the tongue, his lordship, who was about to dine, rejoiced to hear the good news, and, as a reward, promised the knight as much land as he could ride round during the hour of dinner. When he next came before the prelate, he startled the latter by intimating that he had ridden round his castle, and claimed it and all it contained as his meed. The Bishop was loath to part with his stronghold, but was bound to admit the validity of the claim, and eventually made a compromise by granting him an extensive freehold estate known to this day as Pollard’s Land. These broad acres were given with the condition attached that the possessor should meet every Bishop of Durham on his first coming to Auckland, and present to him a falchion with this speech: "My lord, I, in behalf of myself as well as several others, possessors of the Pollard’s lands, do humbly present your lordship with this falchion, at your first coming here, wherewith, as the tradition goeth, he slew of old a mighty boar, which did much harm to man and beast; and by performing this service we hold our lands."

Hutchinson, rather curiously, quotes a letter signed "R. Bowser," commencing: "Sir, inclosed you have the speech my brother Pewterer gave me out of Lord Bishop Cosin’s old Book," in which the boar is described as "a venomous serpent."

Dr. Longley, created Bishop of Durham in the year 1856, was the last Bishop to whom the falchion was presented.

The crest of the Pollard family is an arm holding a falchion. As to the missing head, it is related that while Pollard slept the head of the Northumbrian family of Mitford passed, saw what had occurred, seized the head, and rode with all speed to the King, and gained the reward. The champion Pollard also sought an interview with His Majesty, and giving the facts, showed that the head presented had not a tongue; he was, however, dismissed without any recompense, the King declining to entertain a second claim.

There is in the parish church of St. Andrew’s Auckland an old wooden effigy representing a knight in a suit of chain armour, cross-legged, with his feet resting on a boar, and it is generally believed that this monument was erected in memory of our hero.

In sequel it should perhaps be added that the Mitfords have for many centuries borne as their crest two arms holding a sword pierced through the head of a boar; and as a commentary, perhaps, upon the principle that fortune

[Illustration: HILTON CASTLE FROM THE NORTH.]

helps those who help themselves, they flaunt the pious motto:

GOD + CARYTHE + FOR + US.

_The Cau’d Lad of Hilton._

The grey old castle of Hilton has long had the reputation of being haunted by a bar-guest, or local spirit, known as the "cau’d lad of Hilton," or "cowed lad of Hilton." His history, however, seems to be rather mixed, and to partake of the nature of the genuine ghost as well as that of a brownie. This brownie was seldom seen, but often heard engaged in playing pranks in the great hall, or in the kitchen after the servants had retired for the night. If they left the kitchen orderly and clean, the brownie, angered at having his work taken out of his hands, would throw all the crockery and kitchen utensils about the room, so that when the servants appeared in the morning a picture of confusion met their eyes. Of course, as a rule, they found it worked best not to attempt to leave things tidy, and then the brownie would exert himself through the night, and all would be straight and clean for the maids when they rose.

The servants, however, engaged by the last Baron thought his pranks rather wearisome, and determined to attempt his banishment by the usual means employed in such cases--that is, by leaving for his express use some article of clothing, or some toothsome delicacy to tempt his palate. They resorted to a green cloak and hood as the best means of driving him away. However, the brownie knew what they were after, and many a time during the making of the cloak and hood could be heard singing in the dead of night--

"Wae’s me, wae’s me! The acorn is not yet Grown upon the tree, That’s to grow the wood, That’s to make the cradle, That’s to rock the bairn, That’s to grow the man, That’s to lay me."

The green cloak and hood were finished at length; the servants laid them down before the fire in the great kitchen, and watched at a prudent distance. At midnight the "cau’d lad" glided in, surveyed the garments, put them on, frisked about, and when the cock crew disappeared, saying--

"Here’s a cloak and there’s a hood: The Cau’d Lad of Hilton will do no more good."

And so disappeared for ever.

The appearance of this brownie seems to have been confused with another ghost.

The apparition of a boy who was killed by one of the Barons often used to be seen--sometimes, it is said, with his head under his arm.

A Baron of Hilton, many years ago, ordered his horse to be got ready. He was a passionate man, and a fearsome one to cross. The stable-boy foolishly fell asleep. For awhile the lord waited for his horse, and then, in a lively temper, went off to the stable and found the sleeping boy. He struck the boy with a hay-fork and killed him there and then. Horrified at what he had done, he covered the body with straw till night, and then threw it into a pond at the south side of the park, where, many years afterwards, the skeleton of a boy was discovered. So runs the legend.

It is interesting to note that a boy named Roger Skelton was killed by Robert Hilton, a brother of the then Baron, in July, 1609.[7]

There was a haunted room in the castle called the "cau’d lad’s room," which was never used. Here, it is said, the spirit of the murdered boy made its residence. For many years there has been no appearance of the ghost, though there are persons who affirm that, if they have not actually seen it, they have heard it about the castle.

_The Lambton Worm._

In Plantagenet days the Lord of Lambton had a godless son, who desecrated the Sabbath by fishing in the Wear, and while so doing he hooked a strange worm with nine breathing-holes on either side of its throat. This queer find he threw into a well near by, since known as "the Worm Well," and here the worm grew until it was too large for the well. It then emerged, and betook itself by day to the river, where it lay coiled round a rock in the middle of the stream, and by night to a neighbouring hill, round whose base it would twine itself. Meanwhile it continued to grow so fast that it soon could encircle the hill three times. This hill, which is on the north side of the Wear, and about a mile and a half from old Lambton Hall, is oval in shape and still called the Worm Hill. In the meantime the heir of Lambton had turned over a new leaf, and departed as a Crusader to the Holy Land. The worm still grew, and came daily ravaging for food. The milk of nine cows hardly sufficed it for a meal, and if this were not forthcoming it slayed both man and beast. Many knights tried their prowess against the worm, but with no avail, for no sooner was the worm cut in two than the pieces grew together again. The poor Lord of Lambton was in sore trouble when, after seven long years, the heir of Lambton returned home, a much sadder and wiser man. Seeing the result of his former evil practices, he determined to kill the enormous beast. Several attempts he made without success, because the parts would come together whenever he cut it in two. At last he consulted a witch of the neighbourhood, and she told him if he came to the fight clothed in armour studded with razors, and stood in the swift stream, he would conquer; but that he, like Jephthah, must kill the first living creature that met him after the victory. So to meet this latter difficulty he told his old father to listen, and when he gained the victory he would blow three notes upon his bugle, then his father was to loosen his favourite greyhound, which would come to the bugle’s call.