Tag: Coxley Valley

Red Dwarfs of Coxley Valley

The Rambler

Writing in The Wakefield Free Press, ‘The Rambler’ recalls a visit to Coxley Valley, Sunday 22 July, 1888.

Strolling in Coxley Valley
Haymaking, Coxley Valley

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.”

Pleasure Boats

Proposed scheme; there’s no evidence that there was ever a steam launch operating on Coxley Dam.

Following the directions thus pointed I failed to find any, but continuing down the western slope, I reached the bottom, when lo, I beheld a small lake, and on it several pleasure boats plying their living freight, as busy as if Sunday was of no moment to them.

The Photographer

The Charlesworth family photographed in Coxley Valley
Photographer's stamp

In disgust at the sight, I went on my way until I came in close quarters with a photographic establishment, the proprietor of which, finding six days’ work not sufficient, continues to labour on the seventh.

‘Terrible Red Dwarfs’

visitors to Coxley Valley
Danger! Red Dwarfs at work in Coxley Valley!
The Rambler, artist's impression
‘Sad at heart’ (artist’s impression: I haven’t yet discovered the true identity of ‘The Rambler’).

I certainly expect when his plate of the concert of last Sunday becomes fully developed, I shall be immortalised in the same, with a book in hand and sad at heart.

Yes, sad at heart, pained in mind, and trembling for the awful doom that awaited those “terrible red dwarfs” seen in Coxley Valley last Sunday.

And were there really some in the Valley? Yes, and of all the dwarfs that ever did live these certainly did the most harm.

Terrible Red Dwarf
‘Rambler’ is quoting from a satirical book, ‘The Terrible Red Dwarf’ by M. Guy Pearce, popular with the Temperance Movement.

This was all the more wonderful because they were so ridiculously small, measuring only a few inches in length. Then I noticed that the caves in which they lived were dark, low arched, but strongly guarded. Then there were two ivory gates shut them in fast, and outside there were two other gates that were made to fasten quite closely.

There was no other in all the land that was so secured; and yet, in spite of all this, there was not another dwarf that it was so difficult to shut up.

Their conversation from beginning to end was discussing that all-important event to come off shortly between Horbury Bridge St. John’s and Thornhill cricket teams for the Challenge Cup.

The Band Stand

Finding no cessation of their obscene language, I left the dwarfs’ quarters and wended my way to the band stand, when, by the strains of sweet music played from the heart and soul by the bandsmen, my frame of mind came back again to its former self, and for the the rest of the afternoon I delighted myself in listening to the various selections and enjoying the beautiful scenery up the slope, and the warbling song of birds.

Projected scheme by George F. T. Charlesworth for Coxley Valley pleasure gardens. Only the right-hand bay of the building below Sun Wood was ever constructed.

The band, which consisted of about 21 performers, played remarkably well, under the conductorship of Mr Wm. Atkinson, the bandmaster, andd the following programme was gone through :- The “Gloria,” from Mozart’s 12th Mass; chorus, “Maritana,” by Wallace; “Hallelujah Chorus”; rect. &c., “Comfort ye my people,” “And the glory of the Lord,” “The hours of beauty,” concluding with the National Anthem.

Wicken Tree Hall

Wicken Tree Hall and the ‘Rose Garden Pleasure Grounds’, Coxley Valley, from the Ordnance Survey 6 inch map 1888-1913, National Library of Scotland.

During the performance a collection was made in aid of the band funds, and, it now being turned four o’clock and threatening water clouds hanging overhead, I drew myself together, went on to the old well-established Wigantree* Hall (kept by an old lady over 80 years of age, and her daughter), refreshed myself with a cup of good tea, and after becoming the recipient of a bit of grand-motherly advice from the old lady, I made my way back home again, and on the journey determined to let your readers know about the Sunday visit to Coxley Valley of the poor, old “Rambler.”

*Wicken Tree Hall, probably a transcription error from ‘Rambler’s’ handwritten article.

Extract form The Wakefield Free Press, Saturday 28 July, 1888

Link

Coxley Valley I’m reprinting my A6 booklet later this month

Sunday Visit to Coxley Valley

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.

A day out in Coxley Valley

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.

Relaxing at Coxley Dam

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 . . .

Gatepost

gatepostgatepostCoxley Valley, 5.30 p.m., 45ºF, 8ºC: At the entrance to the woods this rough hewn stone gatepost stands by the beck next to an ivy-covered alder. Fresh leaves of wild garlic grow behind it, escaping being trampled on a wide and muddy stretch of the path.

There’s a bit of an evening chorus amongst the birds – the wistful robin, the monotonous wood pigeon and the powerful projection of the wren – but when the blackbird starts singing we’re in a different league: melodious, mellow and relaxed.

Tropic of Coxley

Coxley beckhawthornThere’s a tropical feel to Coxley wood this afternoon. On the path beyond the old quarry the beck flows at the foot of a steep earth bank and, on what I remember long ago as being an open grassy space, lush wild garlic, now in full flower, spreads between tall alders and willows. Also in full blossom a straggly hawthorn bush arcs its branches in front of the quarry face.

song thrushSong thrushes are remarkably loud, repetitive and insistent, like tropical birds. I’m also picking up an unfamiliar ratchet-like sound. Not a mistle thrush, I realise that it’s the neighbours’ dog, Poppy, pulling on her extendable lead.

The top end of the wood is looking equally good with the oaks in fresh leaf and dripping with little light green catkins.

lapwingThere are more song thrushes singing as we walk alongside the canal. On the Strands, the marshy field between the river and canal, a lapwing is calling. I’m glad to see them making a comeback over the past two months I’ve occasionally spotted them flying over our street, not so far away.