FOLKLORE ON FRIDAY: The Brawny Beasts of County Durham Part III

Over the past two articles in this series, we have detailed the peculiar case of a small area of County Durham being home to three overlapping legends. In the Part I we discovered a muddled legend of the Pollards  in Bishop Auckland, which variously claimed that this aristocratic family's lands were granted as a reward for slaying either a dragon or a monstrous wild boar, noting that the legend and a ritual with a falchion were suspiciously similar to the tale of the Sockburn Worm, another dragon legend from a miles away in Croft.   Meanwhile in Part II, the waters grew even muddier when we discovered the neighboring town of Ferryhill also had a legend of a knight slaying a boar too. 

So then, at last its time to get to the bottom of the mystery. Last time we drew the cautious conclusion that Ferryhill's cherished legend of a medieval knight slaying a huge boar was most likely based on fact, and our earlier article traced the long history of the Sockburn Worm. Therefore it is the Pollards tale is looking most suspect, indeed as we remarked in Part I, it was curious that different accounts seem uncertain whether the beast slain was a wyrm or a brawn. So then, what evidence is there for the Pollard tale?

Well, the earliest version of the legend comes from the Parliamentary Survey of church lands undertaken in 1649, which mentions the tradition of presenting a new Bishop of Durham with the falchion that slew the beast, and that it was for this deed that the Pollard family had been given their lands around Bishop Auckland. However this wasn't the first such record of which family held which lands and the basis for their claims, and there are several earlier mentions of the Pollard family having a falchion as the title deed for their estates, with its image becoming part of the family heraldry from the 14th century onwards. But interestingly there is no mention made of slaying a monster in any of these accounts...

Hence it appears that this story of slaying a beast seems to have only been told by the Pollards themselves. Furthermore it is considerably later that the tale gets its additional details added of the cunning Sir Richard riding around lands to claim them as a reward. Furthermore unlike the similar story of Sir Roger of Ferryhill, there is a distinct absence of any supporting evidence for the story of monster slaying in the historical record prior to the mid 17th century. Indeed the date of that first mention of the legend is significant in itself for that Parliamentary survey was taken while the English Civil War was raging.

Now to sum up briefly, this era saw the country tearing itself apart over who had the right to rule, a battle between the emerging ideas of democracy and the old feudal system which placed political power by birthright in the hands of the Crown and the nobility. Hence in this period the aristocracy were asserting their traditional rights and stressing their long histories and ancient links to their lands. Furthermore after the Restoration of the monarchy in 1660, there was a considerable amount of romanticizing the past - after the upheavals of the Civil War, there was a strong cultural push to reclaim the ancient traditions that had been disrupted and threatened by the conflict. Hence in this period, archetypes of 'Merry England' - an idyllic view of rural Britain and its local customs and folk traditions - become common in literature and other texts, as the new King  repealed the acts of the Puritan Parliaments that that outlawed the likes of May Day celebrations, harvest festivals and Christmas feasts. Naturally the surviving nobility romanticized their histories too and there are a great many alleged ancient traditions and tales, that were claimed to date from medieval times, were actually fabricated in this period.

Now the Pollard family itself did not survive the Civil War, and hence in the 1660s the current Bishop of Durham, John Cosin decreed that the freeholders of their former lands were to continue the tradition of the presenting of the Pollard Falchion to the Bishops of Durham. Cosin was very active in healing the rifts caused by the civil war, reinstating old liturgies, restoring the fineries stripped out of the churches by the Roundheads, and spent a great deal of the bishopric's revenues in strengthening the Church's charities and schools. In setting up a continuation of the Pollard falchion tradition, Cosin was effectively pulling the local community together - on one hand it was asserting the ancient ties between the Church and the nobility, but in transferring the upholding of the tradition to the local people it was also neatly embracing the political changes whereby the aristocracy had conceded a large degree of power to the new emerging Parliamentary democracy.

And certainly it seems that the legend of Pollard and the monster brawn appears to have really taken root in this period, a time when England was attempting to unite a recent bloody rift. In romanticising stories of medieval times essentially the feudal system was quietly being cemented into history. Hence originally the Pollard falchion, like other ancient weapons held by other noble families, was a symbol of their right to rule through their martial power and oaths to deploy that might in the service of  the crown, it now became a relic wrapped up in folklore, a left-over from days when knights were bold and monsters still lived in Merry Old England.

And in this transition from history to folklore, the tale of Pollard and the boar has clearly borrowed from the neighboring legends of Sir Roger and the Brawn of Brancepeth and the slaying of the Sockburn Worm by Sir John Conyer, with details added as the years passed. And while it is possible there might be lost earlier sources that would show the Pollard story to be a genuine medieval legend, the only other piece of supporting evidence appears to point at it being a later fabrication. For in St. Andrews Church in Bishop Auckland, that ancient residence of the Bishops of Durham, there is a 13th century wooden effigy of a knight. It is the usual sleeping figure atop a tomb and local tradition alleges it is the resting place of Sir Richard Pollard who slew the boar.

Now there are no inscriptions or mentions in ancient records to back up this claim, and the story is based upon the fact that at the feet of the sleeping knight is the carved likeness of a boar - much like how the tomb of Sir John Conyers has a dragon at his feet. However experts believe that this carven beast was most likely originally a lion, and at some later date the creature's face was recarved to resemble a pig's snout. This in itself is certainly suspect, hinting at a later revision of local history. However what make it a smoking gun for our investigation into the brawny beasts of County Durham is the fact that Bishop Cosin, who recreated and remodelled the Pollard falchion tradition was famous for redecorating and restoring old churches whose features and ornaments had been destroyed or defaced by the Puritans. And indeed most tellingly, a whole branch of church decorations in Durham now bear his name - Cosin Woodwork...

FOLKLORE ON FRIDAY - The Brawny Beasts of County Durham Part II

Last week, we uncovered a tangled legend from Bishop Auckland about a brave knight who slew either a dragon or a monstrous wild boar. And this tale of Sir Pollard and the Brawn shared many similarities with the legend of the Sockburn Worm, a story hailing from a few miles south in County Durham. A highly suspect coincidence to be sure. However stranger still, even closer to Bishop Auckland, the virtually neighbouring town of Ferryhill has its own legend of a monster hog.

The tale is found in The History and Antiquities of the County Palatine of Durham: Volume 3, Stockton and Darlington Wards by Robert Surtees published in 1823. While detailing the history of the area, and noting the various historical traces and relics left by one Sir Roger de Fery, Surtees' recounts this 13th century knight's great claim to fame - the slaying of the Brawn of Brancepeth. He writes - 

The Boar or Brawn of Brancepath was a formidable animal, which made his lair on Brandon-hill, and walked the forest in ancient undisputed sovereignty 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, affording roots and mast, and the luxurious pleasure of volutation. Near Cleves-cross, Hodge, of Ferry, after carefully marking the boar's track, dug a pitfall, slightly covered with boughs and turf, and then toling 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 his onward path, and seeing the passage barred, rushed headlong on the vile pitfall. 

Now according to local historians this is the earliest record of the story of the slaying of the beast by Roger/Hodge of Fery. However is it curious that Surtees includes a quote in this recounting of the tale - “At once with hope and fear his heart rebounds” - and quite where this line comes from is unclear. I can find no trace of it anywhere else. Is it a quote from Surtees' source for the tale?

Some digging on my part turned up what appears to be an earlier version, told in verse, although annoyingly lacking Surtee's mystery quote. In another old tome The History of the Urban District of Spennymoor published in 1893, by author James J Dodd relates the Ferryhill legend, often almost quoting some of Surtees' phrasing. However deviating from his predecessor's account, he includes the following verse- 

He feared not ye loute with hys stalfe,
Ne yet for ye knyghte in his mayle;
He cared ne more for ye monke with his boke,
Than ye fiendis in depe Croixdale.
Then out spake Hodge yt wyghte soe bolde,
Yt wous on Fery hye;
And he hathe swome by Seynct Cudberte hys rode,
Yt thys horride brawne shall dye;
And he hathe dygged a depe, depe pit,
And strewed it with braunches so grene

Clearly Dodd's quote is but a fragment, and one that tantalizingly cutting off just where the Surtees line might have appeared. And so far, I have been unable to discover either a complete version or a definite origin for it.  Now I have found this old poem appearing with a date of 1208 attached to it, but its actual provenance has been difficult to ascertain. To further muddy the waters, the Victorians, with their passion for heritage and history, recreated a great many old traditions, and hence there is the possibility that this verse, despite being penned in convincing early English, is actually the product of a later century, a Victorian recreation of an imagined lost ballad perhaps.

However the 1208 date does match the historical record, for indeed there was a knight named Roger de Fery in that time. Local tradition has it that the name of the local area 'Brancepeth' is actually derived from 'brawn's path', as this is where the beast reputedly roamed. However scholars in recent times have cast doubt on this, claiming it more likely comes from 'Brant's path', named after a family that made its home in that locale. But as Surtees remarks "The story has nothing very improbable, and something like real evidence still exists", and goes on detail the legacies of Sir Roger that still exist today. These including his alleged tomb in the parish church of Merrington, a twelfth century grave whose slab bears the carved sign of a crossed sword and a spade. As Mr Dodd remarks - 

Seeing that the sword and the spade were the instruments of his famous victory, it needs a very slight stretch of imagination to identify this stone as the actual tombstone of Hodge of Fery. 

However local lore identifies two other places linked with the legend. As Dodd relates, in 1867 the remains of a large pit were discovered while repairing a stackyard, which was quickly assumed to be the very trap dug by Sir Roger. This may seem like a leap of logic, but some years earlier on the same farm, a large stone was dug up which is purported to be all that remains of a cross erected to mark the spot where Sir Roger slew the beast. The area where it was discovered is now known as Cleves Cross after it, and there is a plaque set into a nearby wall that claims - 

The large stone just above ye part of Cleves Cross marks the site where by tradition the Brawn of BRANCEPETH was killed by ROGER de FERY about the year 1200

The current plaque is a recent facsimile, but the original can still be seen in Ferryhill town hall (which also sports the gorgeous stained glass window seen at the heading of this piece).

While the stone is definitely the remains of a medieval monument, in truth we cannot be sure the cross does actually commemorate the slaying of the beast. Some historians postulate that the cross was more probably a way point or marker for pilgrims to Durham Cathedral, but to be frank that is unsupported supposition too, and  I suspect is more a product of an attempt to rid history of something embarrassing like a monster legend. But is a 13th knight hunting down a ferocious wild hog really that unlikely?

To begin with wild boar were still to be found in England at that time, although by the start of the 13th century their numbers were falling and they were being considered something of a menace. Furthermore as tales of monster slaying go, the tale of the Brawn of Brancepeth is highly plausible; the legend actually lacks all the mythic touches one would expect. It features a real animal, and there are no charms or magic involved. It is in fact a rather straight forward account of hunting a dangerous animal, with none of the usual narrative embroidery of the boar's ferociousness or size, nor some lavish reward for brave Sir Roger to round it out into a traditional story or folk tale.

More importantly, the historical record has some very strong evidence to back up the old tale. The traditions of heraldry in that period allowed a man to place in his arms the likeness of any notable beast he had slew. And hence, as Surtees' records, the seals of the de Fery family in that era do indeed show a boar - with Sir Roger's own showing the full beast, while his daughter Maude's just the head.

Given these seals and the carved device on Sir Roger's tomb, it is therefore very much looks like we have a story here rooted in fact rather than fiction. And as we shall discover next time, slaying wild boars was a not uncommon feat for brave men of that era, however many such stories are not as well supported as Sir Roger's by the historical record... And returning to the Pollard legend we will discover why having a beast slayer in the family was so desirable.

FOLKLORE ON FRIDAY - The Brawny Beasts of County Durham Part I

While browsing local legends online, I came across a brief mention of a tale of a limbless worm that reputedly made its lair in a wood outside Bishop Auckland, a little country town literally just down the road from my own. Now the North of England has many legends of great wyrms and dragons, but this one was new to me. And so I did some digging, and in The Works of Sir Walter Scott Volume III (1806) I discovered a fuller account. While discussing the border ballad Kempion, Scott talks at length about the tradition of dragons and wyrms in the North; he recounts the tale of another local dragon, the Sockburn Worm which we have discussed before, and tells of how tradition demands that a new Bishop of Durham is presented with the falchion that slew the beast on his first entrance into the diocese at Croft-on-Tees. But then he goes on to mention a knight slaying a worm at at Bishop Auckland. 

Now what was interesting was that Scott relates that this legend inspired a suspiciously similar ritual involving a falchion and the Bishop of Durham too. I say suspiciously similar for what are the odds of having two dragon-slayers, in the same county, within a few miles of each other, who are both  rewarded with lands and commemorated by presenting exactly the same type of weapon to the local bishop? Surely this was but the same tale but mistakenly attributed to the wrong town and noble family. 

Fortunately for us, Scott quotes his sources, an old tome called Ancient Tenures. It was written by one Thomas Blout in the early 17th century, but was later expanded by other scholars. And hence an edition published in 1815 by by S.Brooke for Butterworth & Son of London has the full title - Fragmenta antiquitatis: or, Ancient tenures of land, and jocular customs of manors (Enlarged and corrected by Josiah Beckwith; with considerable additions from authentic sources, by Hercules Malebysse Beckwith) - and in it we find the following passage - 

Now judging by the dates given in the text, the account of the Pollard's Lands falchion rite dates from long after old Thomas Blout had passed away, and hence is clearly a later addition, most likely a new expansion for this 1815 edition. Now as the scholarship of the 18th and 19th century can be sometime a little muddled with its facts, I tried to find other, and preferably earlier, mentions of the Pollards and a serpent. And in an even older tome I found this reference, which although brief, sheds a very different light on the matter -  

The owners of the land are to doe at every Bishop's first coming to be Bishop here to present him with the Falchion with which the Bore was slayne

from Parliamentary Surveys of the Bishopric of Durham 1649-1650

And so, here was the key to the mystery - there was good reason why I hadn't heard of a dragon tale from Bishop Auckland, for the monster in question was actually a vicious wild boar rather than a serpent! And with that important fact uncovered, it was not difficult to uncover many versions of the tale of the Brawn of Bishop Auckland and its slaying by a knight of the Pollard family.

Now Bishop Auckland was once a place of deep forests and wildwoods, indeed it is said that the town grew from a hunting lodge built there by the Bishops of Durham. With the local woodlands and hills providing excellent sporting opportunities, the little town grew and the Bishops of the county built a great hall there, and later a palatial castle. At some point, alleged in the Middle Ages, a monstrous boar appeared in the woods. Reputedly the size of a cow, this gigantic porker terrorized the area, attacking both man and beast. Naturally this dangerous brawn (as such boars were called) was a great menace to the local folk and was putting a serious dent in the nobility's hunting trips too. Therefore the Bishop of Durham placed a bounty on the beast's head in the hope some brave soul would slay go out and slay it.

A knight named Sir Richard Pollard took up the challenge and tracked the dreaded brawn into the woodland lair, and after a long battle he finally slew the monstrous hog. Sir Richard cut out the boar's tongue and then, being extremely fatigued by the mighty and bloody battle, collapsed into a deep sleep by the still cooling carcass of the brawn. However a cunning fellow happened by the sleeping knight and knowing of the bounty on the brawn, spirited its body away and claimed the reward from the bishop. Naturally Richard was horrified when he awoke, and rode with all haste to the Bishop's palace at Bishop Auckland. The trickery was soon revealed when Sir Richard produced the beast's missing tongue, and in recompense the Bishop offered Sir Richard ownership of all the lands he could ride around before the Bishop had finished his meal. The Bishop however was rather shocked when Sir Richard returned mere minutes later, and the clergyman was even more horrified when he discovered the reasons why. For the wily Sir Richard had rode around Auckland itself, which of course included the Bishop's beloved castle, palace and lands. Of course the Bishop would not honour the agreement but was so impressed by Sir Richard's cunning, he awarded him tracts of the most fertile lands in the county, which of course became Pollard's Lands, and which now survive as Pollard's Dene.

A highly entertaining tale no doubt. But how did a monstrous boar become confused with a great serpent? Well it has been suggested that the confusion arises from an old Germanic word Gewurm which referred to any sort of dangerous wild animal, and has the same origin as the English word 'vermin'. It's a nice theory, however it is one that is rather problematic - firstly there is a clear mismatch of several centuries from when it was possible such Germanic words were still readily peppering the developing English language and the period from which this story purportedly dates, for it is a medieval tale not a Saxon one. Furthermore the Oxford English Dictionary has no entry for 'gewurm' which rather suggests the word was never in common currency in  these isles, and likewise lexicons of Old English  fail to include it too.

A more likely explanation in my view is that thanks to the often broad nature of North Eastern accents, somewhere along the line a visitor from Southern England misheard 'brawn' as 'wyrm'. While accents in County Durham might not always be as thick as Tyneside's Geordie, however the different vowel sounds and speaking cadences in the region could very easily result in a visitor to the area confusing 'wyrm' with 'brawn'. And in the realm of folklore it would not be the first time the confusing of a name lead to the birth of a new legend.

So then, that is one possible explanation for Bishop Auckland having twin legends of knights fighting dragons and boars. However this neat wrap-up of the mystery is somewhat unraveled when you learn that the little town of Ferryhill, which lies less than ten miles away, has a suspiciously similar legend of a brave knight slaying a monstrous boar! Clearly there is some chicanery going on here as we now have three separate but over-lapping legends in the same twenty mile area!

If you will pardon the pun, someone somewhere here is telling porkies! And next time we will discover which naughty knight is telling fibs and discover more about the monster brawns of the North East!