The Rose of Rosebery

In this delightful piece written back in 1900, Richard Blakeborough recounts the peculiar practice of ‘Standing the Church.’ Now, this particular punishment bears an uncanny resemblance to the tradition of ‘Charivari,’ ‘Rough Music,’ or, as Northerners called it, ‘Riding the Stang.’

Since the late 17th century, the terms have commonly been employed to describe a boorish discord, sometimes accompanied by intricate ceremonies, that typically aimed to ridicule or express animosity towards individuals who violated specific societal standards¹.

Yet, mind you, ‘Standing the Church‘ appears to have enjoyed the holy endorsement of the church while being decidedly unpopular amongst the villagers.

What tickled my fancy even more is that this tale unfolded a mere strolling distance away from Great Ayton, but, for some reason, the author saw fit to withhold the exact parish where our protagonist held his ecclesiastical post. Oh, the mystery!²:

DOLLY THE VICTIM;

Many years ago, whilst several clergymen were dining together, the morality of their various parishes came under discussion.

One declared he regretted that the punishment of “standing the church” had been allowed to fall into disuse. He believed in putting to shame every female who strayed from the path of virtue.

Towards the end of the discussion the then Vicar of “—” who had remained silent throughout, on being pressed for his opinion, said “He disagreed with those who advocated reviving the old custom”; boldly declaring “that such a punishment was as degrading to the church as it was debasing to the girl and congregation.”No such thing had been permitted in his church for nearly a hundred years, that he knew for a fact; and he sincerely hoped never would again.

The discussion and the firm way in which the Vicar spoke, led to the telling of the following story. For obvious reasons names and dates are not given.

The reason why his parish so long ago abolished the unsavoury proceeding was then only known to the older folk, and doubtless owing to repetition, the story “Of the last time when a lass was ordered to stand the church,” had gained many additions, but the great truth and facts of the old tale still remained, though in parts crusted over with later events.

The story opens on a lovely summer evening when the country was looking all the fresher for the violent thunderstorm which had rolled and rumbled round Roseberry the whole afternoon. But it had passed away, leaving behind a calmness and serenity as if storms were a thing unknown, the cool tempered breeze swept down from the hills ladened with the scent of fir chatts and blue bells, the lowing of the kine³, and the bleating of lambs, the birds pouring forth their evensong in a hundred varying silvery notes swelled and filled the air with gladsome tuneful melody, their little hearts and throats nigh bursting with their passionate praise of joy and thankfulness. On such declining days the rustic soul swells big with gladness, such an evening with its glorious setting sun, tipping mountain, tree, and hedgerow with a hundred varying tints of gold, speaks to him of a grander and more lasting glory just beyond the ceasing of our last long breath. And then a change comes o’er scene, the shape and shade of darker shadows begin to grow, the grey and sombre fringe of night’s dark mantle begin to creep along, broad’ning deep’ning, blacker, swifter creeping o’er hill and dale, and everywhere as God’s great light in silence and in majesty sinks in the west; then peace, great peace in those days o’er Cleveland reigned.

On such an evening and on such an afternoon the Vicar was returning home. He had been spending the afternoon with his friend the Rector of Great Ayton. He was slowly walking along, with many a pleasing thought passing through his mind, and no wonder, he had that day received good news of his only son, a clerk in the head office of the South Sea Company.

The letter said that he had been suddenly been promoted, that he was coming home for a two months’ holiday, and then he would not be with them for a year. To the Rector of Ayton he had gone with the good news.

In this happy frame of mind the Vicar did not observe as he approached the two roads an old body sitting on the damp grass by the camside⁴; indeed, he would have passed had she not spoken. Sneerling she called out —

“If Ah’d nobbut been a fine lady ya’d a’e geean scrattin’ round ma like a bastard cock ti find out what fer Ah war deeaing sittin’ here, bud acoz Ah’s nowt, ner neeehody, ya can gai smilin’ an’ geemiin’ by, wiv out sa much ez t’ tim’ o’ day, nay deeant stop noo, gan on wi ya,” said she, waving her hand⁵.

“I never saw you Nanny, or I should have spoken to you, indeed, I wished to see you, and for your own good too. Report has it, and I hear that three good Church communicants will take oath, that you were seen at midnight in the Churchyard, at Ayton, gathering grave mould and worms. I know not for what evil purpose, you sought at such an unseemly hour either or the other. At Newton, too, it is said you were seen to climb the Church wall when the gate was open to admit you. You were then watched and seen to scrape from several head stones grave moss. I myself have seen the mark of your nails upon the damp stones. You then gathered black snails and grey snails; how many or for what purpose I know not, but you did do these things, and you know it. Why will you not amend your life, and cease to do evil? I tell you plainly if you will not repent of your evil ways, I shall have to let the people have their way and stay not their hands from ducking though it will cause me great pain to feel compelled to hold my tongue from speaking in your favour, and as hitherto, persuading, my people to bear with your many sins and shortcomings.”

“An’ seea you’ll let ’em duck me, will ya’. Ya mak’ it plain ‘at ya could ho’d ’em back i’ ya ‘ed a mind teea, but ya weeant. Ah’ve nivver nell’d o’ you or your’s, nowther did Ah wiv him or his, yonder,” jerking her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of Ayton “bud he’s let ma be decked, you’ve ez good ez said ya’ll let ’em duck ma, an’ what good will it deea, when tha ‘ev hauf-drooned an’ an’d body? Noo, hearken; wa sat wersels agan yan anuther, tweea gret men ti’ yah u’d woman; bud Ah’ll best ya in t’ end. This varra neet, Ah’ll toss three moudy mounds, at t’ moon again baith ou ya; Ah’ll backkards loup three becks again ‘aith oy ya, an afore cock-craw Ah’ll bo’n been (burn) three bloods again baith on ya. Au’ think on. The shame, ya’d shame, s’all shame you most⁶.—

For joy ov ti’-day,
Ya’il finnd oot ti’-morrow;
Is but a leet shell,
Happing up heavy sorrow⁷.

And without waiting to hear any reply the Vicar might make, the old dame turned about and hobbled quickly away. Nanny was not a pleasing object at any time, for

Sha war desspert cross e’ed
Whahl her snoot an’ her chin
Sed hoo d’ye deca? ta t’ tweea teeth wivin,
Her nails tha war lang,
And humped war her back,
An’ baith lugs war pointed, her skin ommaist black;
Sha’d lang, beeany airms,
Wiv a heead like a mop,
Thoff baith legs war bent, sha war wick ez a lop;
If sha cam like a snail,
Lika a wevzil sha’d gan,
An’ sha opp’nly traded wi’ t’ divil did Nan⁸.
—(Lines from “T’ Hunt o’ Yatton Brigg.”)

The words of the witch were not pleasant to the ears of the Vicar, for though he was a man of thought and in many things far in advance of his time, it must be borne in mind, he and all about him were of that time, and therefore both he and they in more or less degree were influenced by the superstitions then prevailing.

But time softens trouble and digs the grave of fear. And so it was with him; his son came home, and for two months a mother’s heart was gladdened and a father’s joy and pride stirred to the very lowest depths, as the two old folks watched the goings and comings of their handsome lad.

And then the parting came, and for a time the days were dark, for the hope of their life was gone. At wide intervals letters arrived, often long after the date they ought to have been delivered. Then time again softened the weary waiting for the day when he would return. Parish life and work demanded their attention, and so the days and weeks passed on, until spring, lovely spring, began to open her wonderful casket, which for months had been locked with frost and bitter winds from over the Northern seas.

It was just when the hedges began to push forth their bright green buds that the Vicar’s wife told her husband she feared there could be but little doubt that Dolly Threfall had disgraced herself and village. The good man could not believe such a charge to be well founded.

Dolly had always been looked up to as a pattern of maiden modesty. Beautiful indeed was, without a speck of vanity, and far and wide known as the “Rose of Rosebery,” and hitherto believed to be as pure as sweet. No giddy jade or hearkener to a lad’s whistle; no moon trapasser was Dolly, never had the callets ⁹ and apron-suckers bandied Dolly’s name from door to door, never once had the old dames cause to shake their heads and exclaim, “Aa dear! Ah ‘ear me ‘at her carryings on ‘ll end i’ shame.” ¹⁰

But as the days went on, it became impossible any longer to blind their eyes to the fact that the bonniest maiden had disgraced the village, and brought shame upon herself.

Dolly kept house for her father, and, in those days, rarely came abroad; but those who did see her and noted the longing, far-away look in her eyes, pitied her from the very bottom of their hearts.

All this happened in those days when immorality amongst wedded folk was openly winked at, but who rigorously punished any slip amongst their maidens.

Those dames who had, hitherto, been exceedingly jealous of Dolly’s superior charms, to their own offspring, soon gathered together and talked the matter over, and then marched in a body to the Vicar, and demanded that Dolly should be brought before him and them, and made to confess her shame.

The Vicar did not need much urging, for there was nothing he felt more inclined to visit with the utmost severity, than the sin which Dolly had committed. He even called upon her himself and summoned her to appear before her judges at the Vicarage that very night.

She obeyed his command, and that was all. No answer would she give to any of the questions either he or they put, until goaded to the quick by a remark of the Vicar’s, she struck everyone of them dumb with amazement, by replying:

“Whatever you may say to the contrary. in the sight of the Almighty, I am wedded to the man who is the father of my child, yet unborn. It is true that no church hath sanctioned our union, and no ring bound our troth. In truth, had we sought the church’s favour, it would have closed doors against us. I am now as an outcast among ye, an object for the finger of shame, and the cruel taunt from every tongue, and yet, as I stand here before my Maker, I declare that the actions of my life to-day are clearer than some of my judges here present. I am, and have been, true to him I love, and, until death, I shall remain. Now, have your will; but beware, in your desire to wreak vengeance, rather than administer justice, tempered with mercy, you punish yourselves rather than me.”

“Dolly Threlfall, hold your blasphemous speech, lest the Great Judge of all things for ever tie your lying tongue,” sternly commanded the Vicar, truly shocked on hearing such loose theology: “to my utter amazement and lasting sorrow, I am bound to admit that I have been grossly deceived in you, that you are a worthless, wicked jade, absolutely devoid of all sense of shame, which your own disgraceful declarations have proved beyond doubt. Before, however, I order you from my house, and bid you never to darken my doorstep again, I condemn you to the stocks, as a worthless drab, front noon to sunset, the three next Mondays following, that the maids for miles round may come and cry shame on you, and when your nameless child is born, and it be one month old, then you and it, beneath a sheet are condemned to stand near to the porch, at the first tolling of the bell, and until the church door be closed at the end of morning service, and this you shall do for the three Sundays following other, near to but not within the porch. You are too vile to stand within the walls of the church itself (It was usual for those so punished to stand in the aisle). And bear in mind, until you publicly renounce the unholy views you have here set forth to night, you are forbidden to approach the Lord’s Table, and partake of the Holy Sacrament. And now, get you hence, and may the Lord open your eyes to the fulness and foulness of your heart.””Dolly Threlfall, hold your blasphemous speech, lest the Great Judge of all things for ever tie your lying tongue,” sternly commanded the Vicar, truly shocked on hearing such loose theology: “to my utter amazement and lasting sorrow, I am bound to admit that I have been grossly deceived in you, that you are a worthless, wicked jade, absolutely devoid of all sense of shame, which your own disgraceful declarations have proved beyond doubt. Before, however, I order you from my house, and bid you never to darken my doorstep again, I condemn you to the stocks, as a worthless drab, front noon to sunset, the three next Mondays following, that the maids for miles round may come and cry shame on you, and when your nameless child is born, and it be one month old, then you and it, beneath a sheet are condemned to stand near to the porch, at the first tolling of the bell, and until the church door be closed at the end of morning service, and this you shall do for the three Sundays following other, near to but not within the porch. You are too vile to stand within the walls of the church itself (It was usual for those so punished to stand in the aisle). And bear in mind, until you publicly renounce the unholy views you have here set forth to night, you are forbidden to approach the Lord’s Table, and partake of the Holy Sacrament. And now, get you hence, and may the Lord open your eyes to the fulness and foulness of your heart.”

When the time arrived that the stocks had to be fixed, the Vicar could find no one to bring them from the blacksmith’s yard to their place on the green, but his character was of so determined a nature that rather than stoop to begging for their aid, he dragged them from their resting place across the green, and, dropping upon his knees, set to work to empty the post-holes.

Whilst thus engaged Au’d Nanny drew near unobserved.

“Noo then,” she began, “what then ya’re hard at wark, tak a rist for a lahl bit, fer it’s neea leet task ‘at ya’e setten yersen, an’ ya mun think on’ at ya nobbut draw a poor wage, a varra poor wage, for ya maunt fergit ‘at ya’re stirring muok ‘at ‘ll stick ti ya, tiv yer awn sham, an’ ivvery cobble stean er chippin’ ye scrape oot o’ t’ post holes ‘ll hing thersens like wainsteeans on ti yer heart, an’ it’ll be tang afore ya can shak ’em off.”¹¹

Paying but little heed to Nanny’s remarks and threats, the vicar turned again to his work, and hard work it was, for the stones were wedged very tightly in the holes. In loosening one his hand slipped and caught against the sharp edge of a flint and scratched the back of his hand.

“Ther’s blood,” cried the witch; ” ther’s blood upon his hand. An’ ther’ will be on the soul if thoo’s nut varra mindful o’ what thoo duz. An’ afore Ah leeave ya Ah’ll tell ya summat ‘at’ll cap ya. Yow an’ all t’ rest on ’em can say ez ya like, an’ does ez ya like, bud Dolly’ll nivver stan’ t’ church,” and thus having delivered herself, limped away on her crutch¹².

In spite of everything, the stocks were at length fixed. From Dolly’s little room window she had been able to watch the work from its commencement to finish. The moment the implement for the torture of her mind as well as body was ready to receive her, it being then passed noon, she did not wait for either the vicar or any of those gathered near being sent to demand her appearance, but putting on her hat and cape, quietly came forth and approached the little crowd. Neither to the right or left did she look, the roses had faded from her cheeks, and dark rings lay beneath her eyes.

“May I not be spared this grievous trial; it is almost beyond me to bear it?”

“Seek not mercy from me, who am but the, dispenser of God’s vengeance,” said the vicar, sternly.

Without another word Dolly would have seated herself upon the ground.

“Ho’d hard!” shouted the smith, pulling off his jerkin, and folding it into a rough cushion — he spread his leathern apron on the grass, and his folded jerkin upon it, kindly saying, “That’ll keep t’ damp fra striking through.”

Dolly nivver spoke — he saw she could not — she just looked at him, sat down, and laid an ankle within each hole.

“Close it and lock it,” ordered the Vicar, without addressing any one in particular.

“Nay,” shouted the smith, “finish the deed you’ve started, parson; it’s neean ov oor wark, this.”

So it came about amidst great silence, the Vicar closed and locked the stocks, and walked away.

“Sha’ll nut be theer lang,” said the smith, going to his smithy, and returning with a hammer as if it had been a toy, and the stocks what was about to happen. Dolly fainted before he had joined the village crowd. It was only the work of a few moments before Dolly was free again, and being borne back to her own little bed.

Again did the smith go and return, this time with his huge hammer resting upon his shoulder. “Whether ‘t be reet or whether ‘t be rang, Ah nowther ken ner care. Ah ax neeabody’s leave, an Ah begs neeabody’s pardon, bud nivver again them stocks ho ‘d legs agan, seen ya mun all say good-day tiv ’em,” and then the powerful muscles of his arm swung the mighty hammer as if it had been a toy, and the stooks lay upon the green, shattered beyond all repair¹³.

Really, at the bottom of the Vicar’s heart he was secretly glad when he heard of what the smith had done. But in spite of everything, she must, as an example, have her punishment carried out in some other form. Therefore, it was decided, weather permitting, she should stand the two following Sundays sheeted near to the porch instead of in the stocks.

The following day he called to see the smith; such conduct as his could not be allowed to pass unchallenged. Little did he guess as he approached the smithy how his very soul would be wrenched before he left him; he little dreamt that a great fear was about to be born in his heart, and how nearly his life’s happiness was about to be wrecked.

With the reprimanding of the smith we have nothing to do. That worthy son of the hammer listened to all he had to say, and then put a spoke in himself. Said he, when Vicar was about to leave:

“All say, is ther’ gahn ti be that mich religion an’ cast iron Christianity amang ya, whahl ya kill yon lass? A’e ya gitten yer souls that leather bun, an’ yer hearts that hardened wi’ self-righteousness, ‘at ivvery kindly thowt is strangled wivin ya? Can’t ya ken ‘at what yer deeing is nowther Christ-like ner human?”¹⁴

“She has brought this trouble upon herself,” said the Vicar severely.

“An’ yow, a parson, ti talk like that, a’e ya nivver thowt ‘at ‘war somebody also ‘ed summat ti desa wi’ leading Dolly astray? Ez it nivver struck ya wheoa that somebody war?”¹⁵

“Dolly is so stubborn that she will not confess.”

“Neea, an’ sha nivver will, she loves the man ti’ weel;’ bud if ya’d ‘ed hawf wits at work, ya mud a’e fun that oot, fer, ti may way o’ thinking ya weeiant a’e far ti search. Gan yam an’ think ower what Nanny’s said ti ya. Gan yam an’ try an’ leet upon onnybody here abouts wheea ez eneeaf off to git oor Dolly (for sha belangs t’ village) inti sike a hobble ez this.”¹⁶

And the Vicar did set off slowly home, he had had much food given him for thought, for most serious heart-searching, for he was a good man, hard, narrow, unsympathetic, and an ardent follower of that school who, though they would get the earth and its fauk as near as possible to Heaven, before they die are careful to take hell along with them, so as to have it handy to push those souls into who happen to differ from their way of thinking; and the school has a large following yet.

Slowly he bent his steps homeward, with one half formed thought dinning itself in his ears; it was a sort of hazy suggestion giving rise to an ill-defined fearful doubt, which dogged his every step.

The smith had said that he need not search far. It could not be that a suspicion was growing in the village — And then he halted, unconsciously, near to where the wretched stocks had been erected by he own hands. His thoughts, ideas, end suspicions began to shape themselves. Had not Nanny said, months ago — “The shame, he would shame, would shame him most.” Had she not declared a day ago that “the muck he was stirring would cling to himself.” He began to see things now, it seemed, with another vision. “But, great Heavens! If it were as these various items suggested, he must go to his grave in sorrow sad disgrace.” He was stunned, bewildered, powerless to move or collect his thoughts. About him lay the splinters of the demolished stocks, that he, with his own hand had fixed to punish — torture, something whispered — a poor, weak girl. What for? He dare not think. His mind, strung to its utmost tension, to paint mental pictures, so vividly that he closed his eyes so tightly that the darkness he sought for, even one single moment’s oblivion, became a blaze of sparks and flame, and as if by the touch of some magic wand, when he instantly opened then again, he beheld at his feet the stocks replaced. but it was not Dolly he beheld fast therein, but the imploring face of his own lad. The picture, ere it vanished, wrung a groan of agony from him such as had never shaken his soul before. Home he staggered, and strove to collect the scattered, shattered soiled remnants of a long-loved and beautiful dream, the golden dream of his life, the achievement of great and noble deeds by his son. But now! if this dreadful thing were true —

“All his hopes and aims ambitious,
As children’s castles in the sun.
Built of the whitest snow, do shine
As of purest gems they were:
But, melting, end the foulest slush,
Trodden beneath a pauper’s foot,
Then fill a gutter. . . . “

to hear from this son, before Dolly was called upon to another ordeal; he desired to know best or the worst; if the latter he would have to do something, but he knew not what, but whatever it might be, it must of a necessity mean the humbling of his proud upright soul to the dust.

From then until Sunday, which happily was a pouring wet day, he waited and watched for a reply to his letter, but no answer came. It might have missed, he might be away, one would come the next day, but it did not. Oh, the weary anxious waiting. Then Sunday morning, bright and clear. His wife stayed at home, they both well knew that Dolly would be there. He left for Church with a heavy heart, for he had sought no comfort from his wife, as yet he bore the whole of the burden. He saw near the Church door a silent group awaiting his coming. As he drew quite near he lifted his bowed head, he saw that Dolly was there, but no soiled sheet hid her from his or their wonderous gaze. With bowed head she stood with trembling hands clasped upon the arm of his son. He suddenly stopped bewildered.

Father!” he called. “I came last night, but I felt I was not worthy to cross the threshold until I had asked and obtained your forgiveness. Here at the church’s portal I humbly crave it for both of us, but I alone am the sinner. Dolly has already suffered for my sin but I always meant to and mean yet to make her legally my wife.

Let the story end here.

Note. — It may interest a few, if mention is made of the fact that twenty-five years ago throughout a considerable area of Cleveland, not a single soul be found, even amongst the oldest folk, who remembered having seen a female “stand the church.” That wretched form of punishment having been banished in that particular locality long before their time. The following story supplies the key, fully explaining how it came to pass that the popular form of punishment came to be abolished in that locality.

1
“Rough Music Reconsidered.” E. P. Thompson. Folklore, Vol. 103, No. 1 (1992), 3-26.
2
‘DOLLY THE VICTIM.’ | Northern Weekly Gazette | Saturday 15 December 1900 | British Newspaper Archive’. 2022. Britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk <https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/BL/0003075/19001215/066/0005> [accessed 21 September 2022]
3
Cattle.
4
A raised earthen bank, the sloping bank from a hedge bottom.
5
If I had only been a fine lady, you would have gone scratching around me like a rooster to find out what I was doing sitting here. But because I am nothing, and nobody, you can just smile and pass by without even acknowledging me. Don’t stop now, just keep going.
6
Listen, you’re willing to let them attack me and not do anything about it. You’ve made it clear that you could stop them if you wanted to, but you choose not to. I’ve never heard of you or your people, and neither did the man over there,” points to Ayton “But he let me get attacked. You’re just as bad because you’re saying you’ll let them attack me too. What good does it do when I’m half-drowned and beaten up? Now listen carefully. We’re sitting here, two big men and a woman, against each other. But I’ll win in the end. Tonight, I’ll toss three pebbles at the moon to challenge you. I’ll jump backwards over three streams to challenge you. And before the rooster crows, I’ll have shed three bloods against both of you. And remember this, the shame of letting me get hurt will be on you
7
For the joy of today,
You’ll find out tomorrow;
it’s just a little shell
Covering up heavy sorrow
8
She wore a disheveled expression, with her eyebrows furrowed.
She wrinkled her nose and chin and asked,
‘How do you do?’ revealing two yellow teeth within. Her nails were long, and her back was hunched.
Both of her ears were pointed, and her skin was almost black.
She had long, skinny arms and a head resembling a mop.
Despite her crooked legs, she moved quickly like a rabbit.
Whether she moved like a snail or a weasel,
She openly dealt with the devil, did Nan.
9
A scold, a railing woman.
10
Oh dear! I hear that her behaviour will end in shame.
11
“Now then, what are you working so hard at? Take a rest for a little bit, because it’s not an easy task that you’ve set yourself. You must remember that you only earn a very poor wage, a very poor wage, and you mustn’t forget that you’re stirring up dirt that will stick to you, to your own shame. Every cobblestone or chip that you scrape out of the post holes will hang on to your heart like a weight, and it will take a long time before you can shake them off.”
12
“There’s blood, there’s blood upon his hand. And there will be on the soul if you’re not very mindful of what you do. And before I leave you, I’ll tell you something that’ll astonish you. You and all the others can say and do as you like, but Dolly will never stand the church.”
13
“Whether it be right or whether it be wrong, I neither know nor care. I ask nobody’s permission, and I beg nobody’s pardon, but never again will these stocks have legs held captive. So you all can bid farewell to them, and have a good day.”
14
“Are you all going to practice so much religion and cast iron Christianity while you kill that girl? Have you become so calloused in your souls and so hardened in your hearts with self-righteousness that every kind thought is suffocated within you? Don’t you realise that what you are doing is neither Christ-like nor humane?
15
“And you, a parson, to talk like that. Haven’t you ever thought that it was somebody else who had something to do with leading Dolly astray? Has it never struck you who that somebody was?”
16
“No, and she never will. She loves the man too much. But if you had half wits at work, you might have found that out, because in my opinion, you wouldn’t have to search far. Go home and think over what Nanny has said to you. Go home and try to find anyone around here who is foolish enough to get our Dolly (who belongs to the village) into such a difficult situation as this.”

… on the North York Moors, or wherever I happen to be.

The Rose of Rosebery

DOLLY THE VICTIM;

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The Rose of Rosebery

DOLLY THE VICTIM;

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