Joss, like all the old miners, was firmly convinced that rocks grow, and, not only that, but that they breathe, and that like water, like blood in a living being, circulates in channels in the rocks. That rocks grow, is quite a common belief, and to some extent justified, as artificial passages even in the hardest rocks have a tendency to squeeze up and close, owing to the immense pressures exerted by the overlying strata. The softer the rock, the more readily does this closing-up take place. As to the idea of rocks breathing and water pulsating in them, this I had not heard before. It was a bold assertion to make, an assertion which revealed, in a delightful manner, Joss’s simple way of thinking.

We had been discussing Stump Cross Caverns, or “Stoob Cross Caverens”, as Joss called them, how the water had dissolved them out of solid rock, and how water was now slowly  but surely filling up the hollow spaces again with “shockles” (Greenhow for icicles) or stalagmites and stalactites. “Yes”, Joss said, “rocks are joost like owt else, theeay grow bud nivver deeay, theeay drah breeath, an’ t’watter rinns inside ‘em i’ veins an’ channils, seeame ez blod doees i’ uz.” I said I could not quite accept his suggestion as to rocks breathing, and although water did, I admitted, travel in underground channels, it was quite different from the pulsation of blood in the veins of animals.

“Aai,” was Joss’s reply, “rocks breeath reet enoof, T’next time ya beeay doon Butcher Shop way, ya ‘ev a leuk at t’swalla hooale. Ya mun feel it breeathin on yooer feeace, or if ya try an’ blo’ bacca smeeake intuv t’hooale, ya’ll seeay that soomtimes t’smeeake gets soocked intuv t’hooale, an’ efter a wal it belshes oot ageean. It’s ez reglar ez onny man breeathin.” I did not contradict Joss. I knew better than that, as in the case of statement of facts, Joss was never wrong, but sometime afterwards I verified what he had told me about the swallow sucking in smoke. Joss went on:

“Ez tuv t’watter rinnin i’ channils like blod, ah knoas a pleeace uptuv Burril fourtee fathom doon i’ yan o’ t’levils, wharr t’watter coomes oot wey a roosh, an’ thin siles off wal tharr’s hardins a trickle, an’ thin ‘t starts ovver ageean. Monny a time hev ah beean hevin meeay snack aside that tharr pleeace; it’s good watter an’ ez clear ez gin. It is monny a year sin ah war doon tharr, bud ah is sewer it’ll beeay dewin t’seeame yit. Ah cuddant tel ye why, mebbeeay ye kno’?” One explanation of these intermittent springs is that syphonic action may take place in a closed channel, but I could not get Joss to see this, his knowledge of hydraulics being too elementary. Finally, to clinch the argument, Joss said:

“Ez fur rocks groin’, if ya plew a field, t’next year that tharr field ‘ull beeay full o’ steeanes, wha ‘ev growed oot o’ t’groond. Coom an’ ah’ll sho’ ya summat.” Leading the way down the road, he stopped at a place where the solid limestone cropped out through the road metal. Here, he pointed out a small raised portion of the rock and a slight hollow in the middle of it. “When ah war a lile lad, ah drilled that tharr hooale ta leuk taws wey. Thin that war all t’rock ta beeay seed, an’, leuk ya, tharr’s nowt bud rock fur yads an’ yads roond t’hooale. It is clear enoof t’rock hez gro’ed throo t’rooad.” I suggested that the road had not been metalled for some time, and was badly in want of repair. Apparently my contradicting him repeatedly did not please him, so, after some moments’ silence, he said:

“T’ two lile lads, wha gat bloed oop, war lakin heere afooare theeay ganned doon tuv t’ powder magazine i’ Dry Gill.” I had never heard of this, and asked for particulars. Having successfully drawn me away from our argument, he told me the following sad story.

“Weeal, it war in t’oade Parson time. T’ neeames o’ t’ lads were John and Jimmy Bowes, mebbeeay fave or six years oade theeay war, soons o’ t’ chap wha war ceeartakker doon at Jamie wal mines war ageeat. Theeay hed brout twenty-fower kegs o’ powder frae Grassington t’day afooare, an’ all o’ t’kegs wadn’t gan intuv t’magazine, sae fave o’ t’kegs war left ootside. Yan o’ t’kegs hed brossen, an’ tharr war soom o’ t’powder on t’groond, an’ a trael like uptuv t’door o’ t’magazine. When t’lads hed gitten stawled o’ lakin taws, ah seed ‘em gan on tuv t’moor, an’ theeay mun hev seed t’powder. Howseeaivver, theeay ganned an’ axed t’blacksmith ta giv ‘em a match ta burn t’ling wey, an’ t’fowel gav ‘em a match, nivver mindin t’powder. T’ next thing tharr war a turreble ‘splosion, an’ bowth t’poor lads war bloen intuv t’air. Yan on ‘em war bloed all te bits, an’ t’other warrent reet deead, bud he deeid suen efter. Ther oan fadther war awatchin on it. Peices war githered oop ivver sae far away, harms an’ legs, ‘t war all sammed oop an’ putten intuv t’coffins theeay gat frae Pateleh. Thin t’coffins wer takken doon te t’church, bud Parson wadn’t let ‘em beeay brout inside t’church, coz t’barns hed beean chrissened bey a lay preacher, ther parents bein chappil foak. ‘T war nae euse, t’Parson wadn’t hev ‘em intuv t’church; ooz war all on ooz reet mad wey t’Parson, bud ‘e wadn’t boodge. In t’end ‘e wad let t’barns stop in t’porch, coz it warrent t’church proper, an’ tharr them poor barns stayed overneet, wal theeay cud beeay boorreed t’next day. T’hale village war rampin mad wey t’Parson. An ‘ev nivver yance beein tull t’church sin ‘cept at corronations, an’ ah knoas lots wha hevvent beean nather. Soon jined t’chappil, bud ah diddant, ah doan’t hod wey ‘em.”

The chapel at Greenhow was built about 1814, and is therefore a much older foundation than the church, which was consecrated about 1857. The spirit of the Hill folk, like the spirit of the Yorkshire dalesmen, is very independent; They are also deeply religious and serious in outlook on their life and death. This latter trait I think is in great part due to their calling, being, all of them, miners. Their spirit in the past was much the same as it is today, so that when Wesley started his campaign, he was received with open arms in this neighbourhood. Several chapels were built in this district, one of the earliest the chapel on Greenhow, a deed dated August 28th, 1814, refers to it as “recently erected”. Later, Rudyard Kiplings grandfather ministered here about sixty years ago.

But to revert to my tale. The result of the Parson refusing to admit the children’s mangled bodies into the consecrated building was disastrous to the church; many left it for good, and the action is still referred to with disgust.

Old Sam Dodd (“Dodd” was his fathers by-name) had, all his life, been a strong chapel man and Sunday School teacher for more than fifty years, in recognition of which he had received a silver medal, which he sported in his button hole every Sunday. He expressed his view rather aptly to me once when we had touched on this subject: “Ah seeay frae t’papers that theeay let black men an’ reeal heeaythens intuv t’ Westminster Abbee an St Paul’s Catheeydral, yes, an’ even intuv t’ Minster at York, an’ thin ta think that two lile Christian lads warrent good enooff ta stop i’ t’church overneet, efter hevin beean bloed all ta bits, Noa, that issent meeay geeate o’ thinkin,” and he continued, “T’ Parson warrent a bad soart, ez far ez he ganned, bud ‘e cuddant gan very far; if that war ez far ez t’church wad let him, whea worth t’ lot on ‘em”.

I could say nothing; Old Sammy was right - he knew he was right, and so did I!

 
A curious coincidence happened whan I wrote this tale as the brother of the two little lads happened to come and assist me unloading some wood when we were living at Grassfield Cottage, Pateley Bridge. C {Charlotte} came and told me there was a man in the kitchen who, knowing I had started the mines, told C he was born in the engine house at Jamie Shaft. I went out and asked his name, he said it was William Bowes.
"Why surely not the brother of the two little boys who were blown up?"
"Yes."
"What were their names?"
"John and Jimmie."
He then told me the whole of this tale where it concerns the poor little boys. It was strange to get it all corroborated at the very moment I sat writing about it.

Parson Kershaw would only allow a grave stone with a cross on it to be put up.
 
 

1. Greengroves Mine, part of the Burhill set - see under Kit. Return

2. The children lived with their father and mother in the old building (Jamie mine building) at the back. The father was the caretaker. Return

3. Parson Kershaw
A most amicable man whom everybody liked and it was therefore a terrible blow to all when he refused the two dead children the shelter of the church. Return

4. Miss Yorke told me that the Rev Kipling had attended tea parties at Bewerley (she had been told this). Kit told me that he "minded Kipling well. He war a chap fer preachin'"
Will Storey received his "ticket" from Kipling 60 years ago {ie 1860}
Kiplings father was Joseph Lockwood Kipling. Return

Mrs Will Storey was mother of Will Storey, Road Surveyor of Pateley Bridge and Arthur Storey, Schoolmaster, Pateley Bridge.
Old Will Storey was chosen to light the bonfire on Coldstones to celebrate George 5th Coronation as he was the oldest man on the Hill (1911)
 
 

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