The British Cycling Championships descended upon East Cleveland today, bringing to mind a project I embarked upon during the days of Covid: transcribing the works of Richard Blakeborough. Among his tales, “The White Maid of Kilton Castle” holds a special place, for it is set in the environs of Brotton, the very spot where I chanced to witness the women’s race pass through1BLAKEBOROUGH, RICHARD. ‘The White Maid of Kilton Castle’ | Northern Weekly Gazette | Saturday 01 September 1900 | British Newspaper Archive’. 2022. Britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk <https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/BL/0003075/19000901/026/0003?browse=true> [accessed 19 September 2022].
While waiting for the cyclists, I wandered into the cemetery at Brotton. What a remarkable place, overgrown and teeming with wildlife. So, on with the story…
The White Maid of Kilton Castle.
By RICHARD BLAKEBOROUGH.
In the days when spirits walked abroad, there would have been some difficulty in finding anyone living within five miles of Kilton Castle, willing, after sunset, on St. Lucy’s Eve [13 December] to undertake any duty which would have necessitated their having to walk along or cross the pathway between the Castle and Brotton Church. At one time the good people thereabouts believed that on that eve “The White Maid of Kilton” walked abroad; and those who met her either going or coming, or crossed her path either behind or in front, would of a certainty suffer some great misfortune within twelve months that day, the ill-luck generally taking the form of a sudden death either to themselves, or to some dearly loved one of their family. No doubt at one time many a sad story was told of those who had unfortunately deen or crossed the White Maid’s path. One, perhaps the last on record, is the heart-breaking story of Mrs Turner, which took place in the early years of last century.
The Story.
Mrs Turner, a widow, living near to Liverton, had a married daughter residing in Brotton. Towards evening one St. Lucy’s Eve, word was brought to Mrs Turner that she must go with all haste to the Brotton daughter, her presence being sorely needed, a serious illness having resulted in serious complications. Calling in a neighbour she begged of her to allow her eldest daughter to stay the night with her three young children.
The neighbour said she would send her daughter in at once, and in the meantime she would set Turner a little way on her journey, and when she returned she would send her daughter home and stay the night with the children herself.
All the time it seems to have escaped the notice of both that it was St. Lucy’s Eve, doubtless the seriousness and suddenness of the daughter’s illness had for the moment banished all other thoughts from their minds.
A light covering of snow lay upon the ground, the moon in its first quarter shone midheaven midst ten thousand brilliant stars. Nevertheless although it was such a beautiful night, they both carried lanterns, as between Liverton and Brotton there was a wood of considerable size which they would have to pass through. With their minds and tongues fully occupied, they hurried along. Once through the wood the journey would be considerably easier, they would then be on high ground, from which point in the day time a wide area of country extended itself on every side, like a beautiful panorama far beyond the ken of vision.
Having reached this point the neighbour bade Mrs Turner good night, setting off on her homeward journey. A moment later Mrs Turner heard her friend utter a terrified groan, and saw her lantern fall to the ground. Hurrying back to see what ailed her friend, Mrs Turner, before she reached her side, was unable to go a step farther.
Not twenty yards from them, and just emerging from the wood with head bent low, and hands crossed upon her breast, she beheld slowly approaching them the White Maid of Kilton.
Onward she came, heedless of their presence, passing her neighbour, who stood rooted to the spot; with the same slow step she drew near to Mrs Turner. She, poor body, had instantly remembered that it was the fateful eve of St. Lucy. Well she knew the dreadful — nay, fateful — consequences which must fellow such a meeting. Not of herself did she think or care, it was of and for those near and dear to her that her heart was filled with fear. The spectre looked steadily at the imploring woman, shook its head, at the same time pointing in the direction of Liverton, then quickly went. on her way towards Brotton. As the terror-stricken women turned their eyes towards Liverton they noticed a ruddy light tingeing the sky. It grew brighter and brighter; then there shot high in the heavens a lurid flash of flame and sparks.
With an agonised wail, such as can only be wrung from a mother’s heart, Mrs Turner exclaimed, “My bairns!my bairns! the house is on fire!”
How the two women retraced their steps to Liverton, they never knew. It was however only to learn on their arrival, that the neighbours, though hurrying to the rescue, had been too late, The friend’s daughter and the widow’s three children were all burnt to death.
Early next morning came the sad news that the Brotton daughter had also died during the night. Broken hearted, the widow pined away and before twelve months elapsed, she, too, was sleeping the same long sleep.
The Legend.
The legend upon which the belief of the White Maid is based, is a sad one.
A daughter of one of the Lords of Kilton fell in love with a handsome, but poor young knight. The father being wise in his generation well knew that the most certain way of making his daughter determined to marry the man was to forbid her to do so.
Therefore, having another husband in view, he seemingly favoured the young lovers, only exacting a promise from them, that no thought of marriage was to be dreamt of until the young fellow had been abroad to seek his fortune.
To this reasonable request, they both readily agreed, for nothing is impossible, and all things certain and rose-tinted as seen through the eyes of love and youth.
So happy days succeeded each other until the time of separation drew near.
On the eve of St. Lucy’s Day, the young couple, when hawking, drew near to Brotton Church, dismissing their retainers, they said they would perform their devotions.
Kneeling at the altar rails they earnestly prayed each for the other, and whilst yet upon their knees they exchanged rings, swearing to be true to each other.
Then hand in hand they rose and returned homewards. At last the time of parting came. He to go to other lauds to win fortune and renown, she to stay at home and pray for his success.
Eagerly did she listen to every word falling from the lips of any knight who chanced to stay the night at the castle, hoping to hear word of him she loved.
Then came her first real sorrow, how, she could not imagine, but she lost her lover’s ring. At first she was quite certain that it graced her finger when she retired to rest the night before, but as it was nowhere to be found she was driven to the conclusion that she must have lost it the day previous when out hawking.
Two years passed by, and then one woeful day there came a knight bringing back her own ring. Her lover had fallen in battle whilst bravely fighting, and just before he died, he had begged the knight to carry the ring, which he removed from his finger, to his lady love, telling her she was now freed from her vow.
For long she was inconsolable, life seemed to her but a hopeless blank.
And so another year sped by, and then the cruel heartless plot of her father and the knight (who had brought back her ring) was fully exposed.
One day on entering Brotton Church, which had now become a daily custom, she found a young priest kneeling before the altar; presently he arose and tuned to leave the church, their eyes met, trembling, bewildered, almost terrified, they stood face to face, each behaving the other to be a spirit risen from the dead.
Explanations quickly followed. Her ring had been stolen from him whilst be lay unconscious, arising from fever caused by a severe wound. Her ring, which he now producer, had, she now felt convinced, been drawn from her finger whilst she slept.
It had been returned to her lover by her own father, who had gone forth to meet the young knight, when he hurrying to the castle, immediately after landing, to his beloved. It had been given to him, with her dying assurance that she left this world praying for his happiness, and freeing him from his vow. When he learnt the terrible, sad story of his death, he had been almost broken-hearted. Feeling that active life held no further charms for him, he had laid his armour aside and donned the cowl, joining the brotherhood of Byland Abbey. Latterly he lad staying at Guisborough Priory. He had come thither that day to pray for the repose of her soul, at the place where they had made their vow, even as she had entered to pray for his.
There they stood, priest and maiden, all but man and wife, lovers yet, but between them there yawned a gulf so wide and deep, that they might net cross it.
What transpired at that interview none knew. Other meetings took place, but never again under the roof of the sacred edifice.
Then came a time, when much to the surprise and delight of the Lord of Kilton, his daughter said that her days of mourning were over, declaring she was ready to espouse the knight who had brought her ring and the ill-tidings of her lover’s death, and from that day had never ceased ardently to prosecute his suit both in and out of season.
Joy and bustle filled the castle, when the good tidings were made public.
From that day the arrangements for the wedding were hastened with all speed, her father fearing his daughter might change her mind.
At last the day arrived, the wedding being solemnised in the great hall of the castle his daughter refusing to be wed in any other place.
At length the festive day drew to a close, it was the eve of St. Lucy.
At an earlier hour than usual the bride and her maids withdrew to the bridal chamber
“Array me in white,” said she to her maids.
Amazed, and with looks of bewilderment, her maids obeyed her commands.
When they had so attired her, she presented each with a small memento, she bade them all, save one, a favourite maid, to retire, saying should not require their services again that night.
To the one remaining she handed a small packet and an hour-glass, commanding her when it should have but half-emptied itself, to go to the hall in which the guests were assembled, and in the presence of her husband, hand the packet to her father, waiting until he examined the contents, then she had to say to the bridegroom: ” Within the bridal chamber my mistress bids me say, a blemished bride awaits your coming.” Upon the Bible she commanded her maid to swear that she would faithfully do her bidding. Then kissing her on the cheek, she dismissed her.
When the hour-glass was half run, the maid took the packet, and with fear and trembling approached the Lord of Kilton, who at that moment happened to be holding converse with the bridegroom. Handing, the packet she said, making a low curtsey —
“My lord, my mistress bids me hand you this.”
The Lord of Kilton, taking the packet from her trembling fingers, demanded —
” What is’t wench your mistress sends me at this hour?”
“I know not my lord, my mistress commanded ma to lay it in your hand.”
Whilst thus she spoke, he opened the packet, and its contents now lay within his open palm. Both father and bridegroom stood nervously gazing at each other. There, lying in his hand were two rings, her ring and that of the young knight firmly bound together by plait of his and her hair.
With a face as white as a stoat’s breast in winter time, the bridegroom nervously enquired —
“Sent your mistress no message to me? Bade she bring you not a word to me?”
“Yes,” replied the maid. “Upon the Holy Writ my mistress made me swear to deliver unto you this message: ‘That a blemished bride within the bridal chamber awaits your coming.’ ”
“You lie, wretch!” cried the father, mad with passion that he should be thus put to open shame before his guests.”
“Hush!” whispered the bridegroom, “come with me; I fear to go alone, we played her false, my heart misgives me, it may be that our sin is about to find us out, come!” So saying he led the mystified Lord of Kilton away.
Filled with unspeakable fear, the two stood without waiting for admission, but no heed was given to their repeated knocks.
That night ended in commotion, shame, and sorrow.
Much remained for ever an unsolved mystery. All that was ever known for certain was that when the door of the bridal chamber was forced open, the bridegroom discovered, lying upon the floor, his lovely bride clasped in the arms of a young priest, whilst in a long last loving embrace, hers were tightly wound about his neck. Death’s icy hand had been laid upon them both. Hush! We will not, we dare not judge them.
- 1BLAKEBOROUGH, RICHARD. ‘The White Maid of Kilton Castle’ | Northern Weekly Gazette | Saturday 01 September 1900 | British Newspaper Archive’. 2022. Britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk <https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/BL/0003075/19000901/026/0003?browse=true> [accessed 19 September 2022]
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