by the Rambler, The Free Press, Saturday, July 28, 1888
I came across this evocative essay while searching for articles about a mass trespass in Coxley Valley (complete with Brass Band: they did things in style in 1888!):
I am one of those quaint individuals – and there are a few in Horbury yet – who seldom ever leave my picturesque residence on a quiet Sabbath to visit that popular resort, Coxley Valley. Sunday last was an exception to the rule, for just as I and my wife had finished our frugal meal at dinner time, I filled up my pipe, bent upon having a quiet hour, when all on a sudden my intention in this respect was frustrated by the sound of a beating drum and a tremendous burst of music reaching my ears from twenty brass instruments.
For the moment I was thunderstruck, but, recovering my senses, I rushed out of the room into the roadway, only to find a lot more gazeful individuals running out of their humble cottages bare-headed.
Naturally I became as inquisitive as the majority of bystanders to know the cause of such a commotion on the sacred Sabbath. True, I was not long in gaining the required information, and what do you think it was? Why the Brighouse Temperance Brass Band had come out that afternoon to remind us that they were going to give a sacred musical concert in Coxley Valley, not for the benefit of our noble and valuable institution at Wakefield (the Clayton Hospital), but in aid of their band fund.
With this “gentle reminder,” a very large number dressed in their favourite Sunday “togs” wended their way to the favourite spot; many went, too, because it is their custom in the summer months so to do.
I, of course, thought of a letter and its contents I had in my possession, which came from the neighbourhood of Westgate [the ‘Free Press’ office in Wakefield], and conscious of the fact that I had a duty to perform, like the rest of the curious ones, I, too, resolved to spend the afternoon at Coxley Valley.
After a pleasant half hour’s walk, with eyes wide open, and ears not closed to several compliments paid that some Horbury “Ramblers” would be there, I arrived at this much talked of “beautiful and charming resort” with senses refreshed by the newly-made hay and the various wild flowers that send forth their perfume from the woods up the slope.
A turn of the road soon brought me in sight of “Belmont Shanty” as it is called, and as I read a bill on the boards my spirits began to revive. Here is a copy of it:
“This way to Belmont Gardens.”
To be continued . . .