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EBBERSTON: RECOLLECTIONS OF 60 YEARS AGO

By CHARLES METCALFE

Charles Metcalf was born In Ebberston in 1835, the son of George and Rachel Metcalf. He left Ebberston in the 1850s and wrote the article which follows for an unknown newspaper around 1910.

When the happy time of Christmas comes round we, who are old, think of the days of old, of those who have ‘gone before’. If we could only see them face to face, and hear their voices, once more, what raptures would be kindled in our breasts! If there are survivors of those happy Christmas circles let them think, and let there be a few throbs of revived affection in their hearts, and not be utterly forgetful of the friendships that charmed their youth.

If those friends of sixty years ago could re-appear to us we should see the Vicar, the Rev. John Ellis as stately as ever a parson, in those days did walk, whose voice then was rather inaudible, and was an excuse made by his congregation for not listening to his sermons. No doubt, those sermons were grammatical, as the Vicar was the author of an English grammar. Mr Ellis was an astute man, as when remonstrated with for grazing his cattle in the churchyard, he convinced the Archdeacon that he had not broken Ecclesiastical Law, which forbids horned cattle to graze in consecrated ground, because his cattle were without horns. I should like to see him again.

What of the church? The first thing to be noticed was a fine sundial, over the porch, but as to the other parts, especially the windows, they had been ‘restored’ after the manner of Churchwardens’ Architecture; as to the inside, it was one of those described by Wm. Cobbett as being much larger than required for the population. I must not forget the service. A church dignitary, a few days ago, stated that he remembered the time when the singing was led by a man who whistled the tunes in church; to the credit of Ebberston, no performance of this kind ever occurred. The choir was once led by an accordian, but that was since the 60 years ago. At the latter time the service was made lively by an orchestra, composed of ‘cellos, violins, clarinets, flutes, and a few special occasions, of a cornet.

There was Geo. Metcalfe who was the leader of the choir, and who played the ‘cello. There was Thomas Roger, with his clarionet, Dicky and Tommy Brown, from Snainton, with their small and bass fiddles, all of blessed memory![sic]. All good musicians, and who performed music, described by the then land agent, (who sat and listened in Squire Osbaldeston's curtained pew), as operatic.

Near the Church is the fine old seat of the Squire above mentioned, built in the Italian style of architecture. It is needless to mention the old Squire, as much of his sporting and hunting reminiscences appeared in your paper some months ago.

When we entered the village, there stood the Grapes Inn’ and there it stands to-day, but then it was owned and occupied by old Mr. Frank Thorpe and his family, all musical, all highly respected. Afterwards another Frank Thorpe followed - a man of great intelligence, endowed with such natural abilities, as would have enabled him to have made his mark, had he been where he could put them into practise. After the ‘Grapes’ we come to the Blacksmith’s Shop, presided over by Mr Tom Roger before mentioned, whose kind disposition I shall never forget.

Then we came to the school where I finished my village education, where there was not much ‘Murray’ but plenty of sugar-cane’, not forgetting Solomon’s injunction, ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child.’ In later years Mr. H. Cross became schoolmaster. His penmanship was very fine, and can still be seen in the maps he prepared for Ord's History of England.

At the end of the High-street there is the residence of Squire Baker. The Squire was a model man, for thrift and excellent farming, and was ‘a mighty hunter’ after hounds. Mr Baker was a Sunday School Teacher, a rare thing to find now in Squirehood, and went to church as all good men do, except when a neighbour parson who had a grudge against the Squire and retaliated by preaching at the Squire from the text of the rich man and Lazarus. Mr Baker took a prominent part in all public affairs, that was a time when all work was done voluntary - no paid officials, as now. There was not even a Police Constable, and farmers had to be sworn in as Parish Constables, and their staves could be seen hanging in their houses, but seldom or ever used, while there was no pay. What a change! Now it is all officialism, and will be more when Lloyd George’s Insurance Bill passes, if it ever does pass. But I am digressing.

Opposite the Squire’s residence lived Thomas Bailey, a kind hearted man, and a leader among the Wesleyans. He wished to die suddenly, so that he would not be a burden to his relatives, and did it dying on the highroad while returning from work. It is worth mentioning that, in those days of supreme education, he had three sons educated in the village school, more than 70 years ago. One became a land surveyor in Monmouthshire, another an architect and contractor in a large way in York, and the other commenced as a schoolmaster and ended as a cashier in an important bank in Hull. Can such credit be found in the village households to-day?

Leaving a cottage or two we come next to Squire Newton, a kindly disposed gentleman, who could always be seen on his chestnut horse in the hunting field, and this was his only occupation. Even Cobbett shows his good sense, when writing on sports: ‘Taking it for granted that sportsmen are as good as other folks on the score of humanity, the sports of the field, like everything else done in fields, tends to preserve health. I prefer them to all other pastimes, because they produce early rising; because they have no tendency to lead men into vicious habits,’ etc.

Next came a farmhouse, occupied by two brothers called Yeoman (the village pronunciation was ‘Yimmen’), who were always slaving and working, and no better for it, pecuniarily. Then to the Bay Horse’ and its occupier, Butcher Pearson, whose beef was of such excellent quality that there was no wonder it made your mouth water. I have lively recollections of his orchard and the fine apples in it, especially the Ribston Pippins, Queenings, and Winesops. A man next door named Orrah, saw John Wesley ride through the village on his way to Snainton to preach, but that was more than sixty years ago.

Tommy Temple,a farmer, lived at Church House, and Clark Trowsdale made his home there, who accompanied the old Squire when on his shooting expeditions as his gun-loader, the guns being then muzzle loaded. At the foot of the garden, belonging to Church House, stood an old thatched cottage occupied by a poor woman, who received orders to go into Pickering Poor House. To this she strongly objected. The Poor Law officers stormed the place, and began to remove the furniture, when the poor old body was so grief-stricken that she dropped down dead, to the consternation of the myrmidons of the law.

At the middle of the village there were thatched houses, one of which was occupied by a small farmer, who used to take his dinner to the field, and after dinner took a nap in his cart, his horses grazing all the while. On wakening after his noonday nap, and no horses to be seen, he scratched his bald-pate and exclaimed: ‘Well, if this be John Thompson, he’s lost twa ‘oases, but if it isn’t John Thompson, he’s fou’ a cart.’ So you see there was some logic in those days. The thatched houses have given way to more modem erections, in one of which lives Mr. Wm. Metcalf, at Brook Villa, who, though over 80 years of age, is able to employ his time as a builder. Going further south we came to Allanson Hopper, a butt for the rakes of the village, but always willing to help where help was needed.

These reminiscences would be incomplete if no mention was made of George Metcalfe, a most conscientious man, a tenor to evil-doers, as no man ever offered to swear in his presence, and foremost in every good work. He was a builder by trade (which I followed for three or four years, disliked it and ‘Swallowed the trowel’), and had the work of the Old Squire, and afterwards of Sir Digby Cayley, as well as Lord Hotham’s Wilton Estate. Mr. Metcalf was rather a noted singer, and conducted the Church choir, and sang before Queen Victoria in a festival in York Minster in 1835, two year before her accession to the throne, and in the year in which I first saw the light.

He was churchwarden at one time, and afterwards clerk, was an Income Tax assessor, secretary of the cow club (which had a tripe supper at the end of every year), a valuer, etc., and a pattern to all his neighbours. He was followed to the grave by so great a number that the church was filled as it never was before or since. George Metcalf had two brothers, the Rev. Robt. Metcalf; vicar of Sunk Island, a Crown living granted to him by the grand old Duke of Wellington, and had charge of Patrington, the church which is the Queen of Holderness; the other brother, William, was a land surveyor at Monmouth, and surveyed the Forest of Dean, etc., for the then Government. These brothers were educated at Snainton, the next village, under Mr. Lotherington, who afterwards went to Hutton Buscel, and who used to say these three brothers were the best scholars he ever had. This is another instance of the good education received in bygone times.

Opposite George Metcalf lived John Sanderson, who kept a small grocer’s shop, and whose son became one of the largest paper manufacturers in York, so that there was migration in olden times. The next to be noticed is John Slater, shoemaker, farmer and leading Wesleyan, whose sons did not always follow his example; one he characterised as a rake, which was resented by the latter, who replied: 'No, father, you are the rake and I the fork'.

Then there was the family of Temples, joiners and cartwrights. I remember the old females who used to wear coal-scuttle bonnets, th’e only ribbons on them being for tying purposes, such as the old quakeresses used to wear. There were no artificial flowers, no ostrich feathers then, as now; yet farmers’ wives, who are always complaining of bad times, must not only have these, but must have their fine costumes, pianos. Drawing rooms, and all kinds of luxuries, not to their discredit, I may say. The village boasted of a brewery, presided over by Mr. Moss whose portly corporation well-nigh filled the big pew he occupied in the old Wesleyan Chapel. On one of his visits to my father I was marching about the house as proud as Lucifer in my first corduroy suit, jingling the coppers given to me to mark the event. Mr Moss took the hint, which added to my store.

The next person to be mentioned is ‘Jim’ Vasey, the village sexton, who was always ‘dry’ (thirsty) when met, and lived in an old thatched cottage which had previously been occupied by Nesbit, a common navvy, who would be called an excavator now, perhaps. Nesbit was the author of two excellent books on mensuration and land-surveying, which were a credit to him, as it must have been ‘the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties.’ His mensuration was revised at his request by the Rev. R. Metcalf, already mentioned. Mr Nesbit was not unknown in Malton, and when inquiring for a book on an abstruse subject on mathematics, this inquiry quite surprised a doctor there, at seeing a working man ask for such a book, and the two entered into conversation, which led to friendship which lasted many years. Mr Nesbit became master of a grammar school at Bradford, and his sons were authors of works on chemistry. My father was at his sale at Ebberston, and saw his clogs sold for fourpence.

The house in which Nesbit lived is now restored, and is used as an Estate Office by Mr. Bradley, a fit place for such a predecessor. This leads me to the subject of Education. We have already seen that several prominent men sprung from Ebberston, namely, three land-surveyors, two clergymen, including ‘Priest Craven,’ and many others; but where do we find such men now-a-days? Echo answers, where? What can be expected from a system which tries to cram forty to fifty different subjects into the poor little craniums; it only ends in cram, high salaries and high rates. French and German are taught in schools in the towns, but when foreign correspondents are wanted in our offices we have to send to France or Germany for them.

But this is a digression. Let us return to Dick Craven and Jim Yeoman, who were so boisterous that their voices could be heard the length of the village. They were both farmers; one owned and farmed his own land, and that belonging to the above named ‘Priest Craven’; the other acted as parish constable. It should be added that it was not derogatory to the characters of men of old to be called Frank, Tom, Dick., and Jim, they were all well respected and in fairly good circumstances.

Then we come to the mill with its fat pigs. The miller used to say his daughter carried a ton of potatoes in her mouth, because this was the price of false teeth worn by her. She was the first in the village to indulge in such a luxury. I have lively recollections of this family, not forgetting the trout I have caught in the stream above and below the mill, and as we are near the end of our subject, let us ask ourselves, when shall we and all those old friends and acquaintances meet again.