The wooded Whorl Hill, a glacial outlier. Behind and just to the left is Sexhow, a township in the former parish of Rudby-in-Cleveland. Nowadays, it is a Civil Parish in its own right.
There is not much there, maybe just the trio of the Hall, the Park and the Grange. It was once though described as a village and about a mile to the south-west lived Au’d Nan o’ Sexhow. That would put her cottage around where the former Potto railway station was (now occupied by the hauliers Prestons of Potto).
The story of Nan o’ Sexhow, like so many of Richard Blakeborough’s, contains a large amount of dialogue in old Cleveland dialect. Now I’ve discovered that ChatGPT, the Articificial Intelligence software that is causing great concern, translates this into modern English. This is a godsend to me as I admit to struggling to comprehend the dialogues. I’ve added these translations as footnotes.
Au’d Nan o’ Sexhow
By Richard Blakeborough1‘Au’d Nan o’ Sexhow. | Northern Weekly Gazette | Saturday 02 November 1901 | British Newspaper Archive’. 2022. Britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk <https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/bl/0003075/19011102/150/0021> [accessed 27 September 2022]
The following legend been gathered from two sources — one was recited to the writer, the other is taken from a MS2manuscript in doggerel rhyme which lies before him at the time of writing.
Au’d Nan o’ Sexhow — her surname has long since been forgotten—is reported to have lived about a mile to the south-west of the village of that name. Her cottage was one of the better class, for Nan was well-to-do; nay, by her neighbours, reputed to be wealthy, though making but little show in support of such a theory. Some whispered that she hoarded her money, and all agreed that she as exceedingly mean and greedy.
There was a nephew on her husband’s side, and a niece, the only daughter of her own sister. Little or nothing is now known of Nan’s husband, he having died long before the events transpired which subsequently made her name famous.
The niece, Mary Linskill, had been brought up by Aunt Nan, and a wretched time the poor girl seems to have had of it.
Nan was not the kind of old body to make anyone’s life a happy one. Especially might this be said of those who by an unkindly fate were cast upon her bounty and mercy.
But let me tell the story as it used to be told many a long year ago.
It was one bitterly cold November day, the commencement of one of those and severe winters of which the old folk of twenty-five years ago used to delight in picturing to us younger fry, and the stories they told of the protracted severity were of such a nature as to convince all who listened to their stories of drifts, frosts, and the lengthy duration of the storms they told of, which were of such a truly dreadful character, that we were driven to ask the question: Are the winters as protracted and severe now as they were, say, between the year 1790 and 1830? And having put the question, there we leave it. It was then, during the earliest days of one November, in those times when these fearful winters were, that towards evening Au’d Nan o’ Sexhow hurried towards her own warm fireside. She had been to Hutton Rudby, which in those days bore anything but a good name, for was it not widely known as an indisputable fact, that
“In Hutton Rudby and Entrepan
There lived more rogues than honest men.”
“Sure,” muttered the old dame, as she fumbled for her door key, her cottage being then in sight, “I might have saved myself the journey. Tom Linskill is nowt bud a lying scoundrel; he means to slip me, but I’ll watch him. I’ll follow the law on him, see if I don’t; he got my wheat, and if he doesn’t pay within a month this day I’ll him into the street. He aims because he wed my sister that I’ll overlook his debt; but he’s wrong, and he’ll find that out. When my sister died all relationship was ended for good; he’s nowt ti me, and I’ll larn him that bit if he doesn’t pay — l will that.”3“Sure, I could have saved myself the journey. Tom Linskill is nothing but a lying scoundrel. He intends to deceive me, but I’ll keep an eye on him. I’ll take legal action against him, mark my words. He took my wheat, and if he doesn’t pay by this time next month, I’ll throw him out onto the street. He assumes that because he married my sister, I’ll ignore his debt. But he’s mistaken, and he’ll realize that soon enough. When my sister died, all ties were severed for good. He means nothing to me, and I’ll teach him that lesson if he fails to pay. I certainly will.”
And there cannot be the least shadow of a doubt but that she would have carried her threat out to the letter, but between then and the date named Tom Linskill was dead. Some said it was an accident; others declared on the side of suicide, and a few, owing to the fact that a nasty bruise had been discovered on the dead man, whispered of foul play. Which theory was actually correct was never satisfactorily decided, at least so far as local disputants were concerned.
At this, as Nan declared, “mean way of escaping from an acknowledged debt,” the [?] old thing was simply crazed.
“I suppose,” said she to a neighbour, “I shall have to take yon brat of his and fetch her up, and that’s a nice game now, isn’t it ?”
“Why, shall mak a handy little maid for ye; sha’ll onny road be wo’th her food, an’ what ther’ll be what Tom left in the house, an’ Ah knaw what he had a couple o’ pigs, an’ yan on ’em ‘ll pull stillyards at twenty steean, and t’other ‘un nut far off. Then what ther’s a coo an’ tweea horses, an’ other bits o’ things. Whya ther can’t be far sho’t o’ fifty pund4Well, she’ll make a useful young woman for you. She’ll be worth her keep, and there’s also what Tom left in the house. I know he had a couple of pigs, and one of them weighs about twenty stone, not far from the other. Then there’s a cow, two horses, and other odds and ends. There must be close to fifty pounds altogether..
” Ay, bud he owes me sixty.” The hearing of this consoling information did, however, put Nan in a better humour. Putting on her hud and thick cape she hurried to the side of the sorrowing child, for little Mary, at that time only seven and going in eight, as she answered all who ever questioned her as to her age.
Nan, in her harsh way, strove to comfort the heartbroken child. She told her not to cry, because she had lost her father, as she (Nan) would be a mother to her.
“But will you be as kind to me as my own dear father?” sobbed the poor bairn.
“Ay, Ah’ll be kind, hard eneeaf, if thoo nobbit diz ez Ah bid tha, an’ gi’es ma nowther sauce ner back wo’d. Noo then, dry yer een, come wi’ me. Ah want ti ev a leeak at t’ coo an’ t’ hoss.”5“Yes, I’ll be kind, hard enough, if you only do as I tell you, and give me neither attitude nor rude words. Now then, dry your eyes, come with me. I want to have a look at the cow and the horse.”
“Bud wa aen’t gitten owther a hoss or coo noo, mah daddy sell’d baith ower an’ aboon a week sen.”6“But we haven’t got either a horse or a cow now, my father sold both over a week ago.”
Indeed, Nanny presently discovered that not a thing about the place belonged to her brother-in-law at the time of his death. All had been disposed of, and only his little daughter left to the tender (?) mercy of Au’d Nan. Poor little Mary Linskill’s life from that day through twelve long weary hard-working years never had one kindly word, or was shown a single kindly action by the bad tempered old thing she called aunt. There was one ray of happiness now and again came across her sad life. At least it was happiness to her; but had she been wise in the world’s wicked ways she would have known, poor soul, that even that was not real. It was, however, a great happiness, because a total change from the terrible monotony of her life. This was the arrival of Au’d Nan’s nephew, when he paid his aunt a visit, which he began to do pretty regularly; much oftener, indeed, than she wished or desired. The old lady, of course, was not blind to the fact that her niece had, all uncared for, blossomed into an exceedingly handsome lass, and she also perceived that her nephew was fully aware of the fact. Tom Flinders, that was the name of Nan’s nephew, was a scamp of the first order and finest water. Of honour he knew as little as a dead hedgehog. Truth and all the attributes which go towards the building up of a noble nature, he said, belonged to parson, and such like cattle. So far as he was, concerned, he had managed to knock along very well without troubling himself with anything of the kind, his motto being “Always see that you get your own, and as much of everybody elses as you could sneak without being found out.”
The companionship of each a thorough-paced young scoundrel could bring no good to poor little Mary, innocent of the snares and pitfalls such an one would set for her earthly destruction. Trusting him with all the fulness of her young untutored heart, she was as clay. What he said, she believed; what he begged her to do, she did.
Then Au’d Nan died. Her will, the making of which was about the only good thing she was ever known to have done, left the farm stock and all things thereon to her nephew. Her money to the sum of two thousand pounds, which she stated was in a kail-pot7 a large metal pot for culinary purposes; originally a pottage pot. had to be equally divided between nephew and niece. This was all very well, only neither nephew nor niece could discover the hiding place of the said pot.
If it had been discovered there is little doubt that Flinders would have married his bonny cousin, and there was every reason that he should do so, but, as its hiding place could not be ferreted out, he turned Mary to the door, caring little what became of her.
Poor Mary’s eyes were at last. opened to the worthlessness of the men she loved too well. To some kindly-hearted old lady living either in or to Stokesley she repaired, and told her woful tale; and with this old dame lived, finding and comfort in her hour of need.
For a whole year Tom Flinders lived his aunt’s house, attending with all diligence to the labours of his small farm and stock, but do as he would his circumstances became still more and more involved. What was best to be done under the circumstances none of his friends could imagine —
“And nowther could he as he sat by his fire,
As twelve bats fra t’ langease tell’d midneet wor nigh.
Seea he ligg’d doon his pipe, an’ swigg’d oft his glass,
Then chairbun’ he sat, wi’ fear fixing t’ eye.”8And neither could he as he sat by his fire,
When twelve strokes from the longcase clock told midnight was near.
So he put down his pipe, and took frequent sips from his glass,
Then he sat stiff in his chair, with fear in his eyes fixed.
Tom rubbed his eyes, and stared at something, he knew not what,
For summat uncanny war shappin itsen’
Fra nowght oot o’ nowght nigh t’ ingle neuk cheear;
It war lahl, it war black, bud it seems shewed itsen,
In t’ shape of a woman, then Tom skriked wi’ fear.”9Something strange was happening itself,
From nothing out of nowhere near the fireplace chair;
It was small, it was dark, but it revealed itself,
In the form of a woman, then Tom screamed in fear.
When Tom beheld the spectre slowly shaping itself into the form of a woman before his eyes, he began to pray to the Lord and excuse himself for many of his evil deeds, and to couple therewith all manor of promises for his better behaviour in the future. He admitted his cruelty to poor Mary, but he would wed her at once, if the Lord would only forgive him, so abject was his fear, and in the end so vehement became his cries, that at length the speaker shouted: —
“Ho’d thi whisht, Tommy Flinders,” cried a weak voice fra t’ newk.
To’n thi head, mun, this way, for Ah’ve nut lang ti stay,
Ah’ve com’d for thi good, mun, so hearken ti me,
Thi troubles are owered, nobbut deea what Ah say.10“Hold your silence, Tommy Flinders,” cried a weak voice from the corner.
Turn your head, mate, this way, for I don’t have much time left,
I’ve come for your good, mate, so listen to me,
Your troubles are over, just do as I say.
• • • • • •
The instant Tom turned his head in response to the commands of the spectre saw at once that it was his old aunt who had come again. There he sat, gripping the arms of his chair. It must have been a fearful sight, for we are told that—
“Like a shadow Nan sat, sha mud a’e been smeeak,
Or feshioned fra t’stour at oft laaks wi’ r’ wind,
Or wovven fra t’ harr, what hings ower t’ fog,
When t’ scyth’s deean its wark, said Nan
‘Torn thoo’ll finnd—’ “11Nan sat still like a shadow, she might have been smoke,
Or shaped from the dust that often dances with the wind,
Or woven from the mist that hangs over the fog,
When the scythe has finished its work, Nan said,
“There you’ll find it—”
• • • • •
Then the spectre explained to her fearful listener that the whole of her wealth which he and others had been unable to find was hidden in a kail-pot near to a certain holly bush at the bottom of her garth. In this pot he was told that he would find both silver and gold pieces. Then solemnly she bade him bring the kail-pot home, sort the silver from the gold; the former he was to keep as his own, to work good or ill, but the gold, every single coin of it, he was commanded in no measured terms to give to poor Mary, and before the spectre vanished it promised him another visit a twelve months that night. It pointed that if he had a spark of honour in his nature he would wed poor Mary. This, however, was not commanded, only suggested, but in such a way that few could have helped acting at once upon the hint. And then Tom found that he was quite alone, and began to wonder if it had all been a dream.
Dream or no dream, he determined, midnight though it was, to repair at once to the garth in question, and see if the holy bush did guard the lost treasure. With lanthorn and spade he repaired to the spot, and within an hour afterwards he was feasting his greedy eyes upon the recovered treasure. The rhyme draws a weird picture of the finding of the pot—
” ‘Twar ommaest hauf full a’ sill’er an’ gawd;
Hoo he gat it hugg’d yam be nivver could tell,
Bud like yan ‘at’s fair drukken be stakkard alang.
T’ divil cuttering all t’ way ‘ Keep it all for thysel.’ “12“It was almost half full of silver and gold;
How he managed to bring it home, no one could ever tell,
But like someone who’s completely drunk stumbling along,
The devil muttered all the way, ‘Keep it all for yourself.’”
• • • • • •
Then presently follows the spacious arguments which the evil one whispered in his ear.
“It’s thine, mum, thoo fan it, t’war the Lord sent that dream,
Thoo can pay off the debts, an’ mak’ t’ farm thi awn;
Thoo can stock it an’ till it, as thoo’s lang’d for ti deea,
Fawk’ll soon call tha Mister, an’ lip slake an’ fawn.
Thoo can deea as thoo likes, wi’ neean ti say nay,
Ther’s nowght thoo need wait byv day or byv neet,
Thoo can ho’d up the heed t’ best on ’em noo.
Diz ta ken thoo’s weel off noo, wi’ t’ wo”lld at thi feet?13“It’s yours, Mum, you’ve found it! It was the Lord who sent that dream.
You can pay off the debts and make the farm your own.
You can stock it and work it as you’ve longed to do.
People will soon address you as Mister and flatter you.
You can do as you please without anyone objecting,
There’s nothing you need wait for day or night.
You can hold your head up higher than anyone now.
Do you know you’re well off now, with the world at your feet?”
From that night Tom’s life altered. At last he was in a position to fan and food every evil flame which had long flickered within his heart. Never once did he look Mary’s way, not one single piece, either silver or gold, came her way.
But one night, when the poor lass was seated knitting and quite alone, her aunt came again, and after unfolding the perfidy of Tom’s behaviour, continued to say:
“Ah gav’ him all t’ siller,
Ah ga’ thee all t’ gowd,
Bud he’s held back thi due, an’ while thoo hungers here,
He’s sodden’d wi’ drink, bud his reckoning neegh
When Ah tell’d him wheear t’ brass war,
Ah gav’ him a year
Ti sattle his awn debts, to deea t’ rees by thee.
Ti wed tha, mah lass, thi fair due by reets;
Mah warning he’s flowted, thi nivver leeaked,
Bud companied wiv onny lowse drab off’n t’ streets.
He’s drank mair ‘an a fish, lived warse’ an a hog,
Ther’s neea suds i’ Heaven coud wesh his heart clean,
All maks and’ all manders o’ ill deed he’s wrowght,
Bud o’ late he’s deean nowght, ‘at he owght ti a’e deean.
Bud his time’s ommaist rip, his footsteps are few,
Bud yance again, lass, t’ sun’ll shine ower heead,
Bad when it gans doon, that’s t’ last on’t for him,
For afore it comes up, Ah sweear he’ll be deead.14“I gave him all the silver,
I gave you all the gold,
But he withheld your rightful share while you suffer here,
He’s soaked in drink, but his reckoning is near.
When I told him where the money was,
I gave him a year
To settle his own debts, to fulfill his promise to you.
To marry you, my dear, your fair share by rights.
My warning is clear, they never leaked,
But associated with any loose person off the streets.
He’s drunk more than a fish, lived worse than a hog,
There’s no soap in Heaven that could cleanse his heart.
He has committed all kinds of evil deeds,
But lately, he has done nothing that he should have done.
But his time is almost up, his days are numbered,
But once again, lass, the sun will shine over your head,
But when it sets, that’s the end for him,
Because before it rises again, I swear he’ll be dead.”
• • • • • •
Woman-like Mary drove to hide his faults, and pleaded for another chance to be given him, but Au’d Nan wouldn’t hear of such a thing; nay, she made it plain that a favour could not be granted, for she had sworn such a complication of fearful oaths which dare not been broken by the living, and therefore a thing could not be even dreamt of by the dead. Said she —
“An’ besides lass Ah’ve sweeard byv t’ nine sods o’ mah grave,
Byv t’ six men Ah met wi’ neea atween,
Byv t’ nine nails ‘at fass’ens mah coffin lid doon,
An’ byv her ‘at tha hugg’d late at neet ower t’ green;
Ah’ve sweeard byv t’ last bat ‘at speaks a day geean,
Ah’ve sweeard teea byv grund wheera t’ soulless yans lig,
Byv t’ lass ‘at tha ligg’d wiva stake thruff chist,
Ah’ve sweear’d he s’all dee, an’ Bill his grave dig.15And besides, lass, I’ve sworn by the nine sods of my grave,
By the six men I encountered with no one in between,
By the nine nails that fasten my coffin lid down,
And by her whom you embraced late at night over the green;
I’ve sworn by the last bat that chirps a day gone,
I’ve sworn too by the ground where the lifeless ones lie,
By the girl who you pierced through the chest with a stake,
I’ve sworn he shall die, and Bill shall dig his grave.
• • • • • •
And that very night as Tom at iv his chair,
Wi’ gammish undeean iv his han’,
Thoff drunk as a swine t’ gret swab let it drop,
For he’d wit eneeaf left to Ken Nan.
Kenn’d her as pale as a frost bleeachen sheet,
Ay, as white as a new cullered hoos,
As leet an’ as muzzy a t’ hag rolls on t’ fog;
An’ as whisht as a cat ligs fo rt’ moos,
TThoff Tom’s tongue war tied, his lips parch’d an’ dry,
T’ fumes o’ drink easod ther ho’d his brain,
Bud his sen held bun, while he fair gloored at Nan,
Dumbstricken he sat gripedi w’ pain.16And that very night, as Tom sat in his chair,
With a suspicious object in his hand,
Though drunk as can be, he dropped the great swab,
For he had enough wit to recognize Nan.
He saw her as pale as a bleached sheet,
Yes, as white as a newly painted house,
As light-headed and dizzy as a scarecrow in the fog,
And as quiet as a cat lying in wait for a mouse.
Though Tom’s tongue was tied, his lips parched and dry,
The fumes of drink muddled his brain,
But his senses held on, while he stared at Nan,
Dumbfounded, he sat gripped with pain.
• • • • • •
Tom knew that her coming booded no good to him. Again all his wrong doing presented itself like a black cloud before his terrified conscience, fear made him repent — for the moment — his evil lying tongue at once set to work forming all manner of specious promises fur the better behaviour in the future, but when he would have given utteranoe to his promises born of fear, Nan varnished.
Sha ‘ed geean iv a twinkling, geean iv a trice,
Nut a wo’d ‘ed sha spookken, nut a sign did sha mak.
Sha said nowght, sha did nowght, bud went as sha eam
As wishart as deeath when he gans i’ yan’s track.17She vanished in an instant, gone in a flash,
Not a word had she spoken, not a sign did she make.
She said nothing, she did nothing, but disappeared
As silent as death when it comes in one’s path.
• • • • • •
Next day, in spite of Nan’s dreadful assurance that no hope could be given, poor Mary sought for her old sweetheart in Stokesley market. She begged and prayed of him for his own sake, for the salvation of his perjured soul, to go to the priest and confess his wrong-doing. She asked nothing for herself. She uttered not a word reminding him of his shameful, cruel treatment from which she had suffered so much; she only pleaded, and earnestly pleaded, with him for his own soul’s good. And the brute spurned her in the open market; he pushed her from him when she would yet have clung to him for his own soul’s good, he called her foul names, and struck at her, at which those near cried shame upon him. But as he gave that blow those standing about saw his cheek suddenly blanch, they were aware that his knees almost gave way beneath him, and they one and all saw pictured in his face and dilated eyes the light and lines of a dreadful terror. They knew not that as he drew back his hand from that cruel blow, that he had soon Au’d Nan standing behind poor Mary, seen the spectre standing with a grin of evil portent radiating her pale face fresh from the grave. But from that moment Tom Flinders felt that all hope was banished from his heart. He turned about, and hardly knowing what he did or whither he was bound, did at last find himself in the hostel yard. Calling for his horse, he sprang into the saddle and started at a neck-break pace for home. On the way he had to pass the door of poor Mary’s home, and it, was from this point there started the notorious ride of Au’d Nan o’ Sexhow. The rhyme, after recounting his strange behaviour both on his way to and whilst in the inn yard, goes on to say that like one bereft of his senses he mounted and galloped away.
At last he approached Mary’s home —
But them ‘at war stan’ing at Stowsla Teen end
Seed a seet sike es made ’em all scream.
It licked owght at war wick, trew tell’d or a lee,
Gi’en as real, er bud drama, as a dream.18Finally, he reached Mary’s house —
But those who were standing at Stokesley Town end
Saw a sight so terrifying it made them all scream.
It looked like something that was wicked, truth be told or a lie,
Appearing as real, or perhaps just a figment of the imagination.
• • • • • •
As he raced byv her door, ower t’ deearstan ther boonced
Nut Mary bud Nan, it war clear
To all war stannin ‘an’ seed her loup-up,
It war sha ‘at ‘ed been deead a year,
When Tom felt her airms atwined roond his neck
He fair skriked oot wi’ fear, ” Nan Ah will,
Nobbut gi’ e ma yah chance, it’s God’s truth, Ah swear.”
Bud for t’ soond o’ ‘t’ hoss hoofs, all war still.
“Sha’s nipping his wezzan ‘s trew as death,” shooted yan,
“Sha’s brokken t’ grave bonds for to kill,”
An’ then far away there rang on t’ neet air,
T’ wild skrike o’ despair “Nan, Ah will”19As he raced by her door, over the doorstep there bounced.
Not Mary but Nan, it was clear
To all who were standing and saw her leap,
It was she who had been dead a year.
When Tom felt her arms twined around his neck
He cried out in fear, “Nan, I will,
Just give me one chance, it’s God’s truth, I swear.”
But with the sound of the horse’s hoofs, all was still.
“She’s squeezing his throat as true as death,” shouted one,
“She’s broken the grave bonds to kill,”
And then far away there rang on the night air,
The wild cry of despair, “Nan, I will.”
• • • • • •
Those who had seen the spectre jump behind Tom, begged those who rode past to haste with all speed to his assistance, some did, but as they rode at top speed, they came within hearing of that weird wail of “Ah will, Nan, Ah will!” and when this awful wail was wafted towards them, we read that their courage failed them—
When they heard t ‘awsome wail, they stayed ther whip hand,
Chasing boggles tha aim’d war a dangerous bat,
An ‘if Flinders ‘ed gitten Nan’s boggle ahint,
‘Twar thruff t’ ‘ill he’d wrought, so tha took ther awn yak.20When they heard the awesome cry, they held their whip hand,
Chasing goblins that aimed were a dangerous lot,
And if Flinders had gotten Nan’s goblin behind,
It was through the hill he had worked, so you took your own way.
• • • • • •
The rhyme then graphically describes the scene along the road. It was market day, and those who were peacefully wending their way homeward were startled by the clatter of a horse at full gallop, their eyes were appalled at the sight of Tom Flinders madly galloping home with the figure of Au’d Nan, dead now a year gone, seated behind him, gripping his windpipe until his face was black. Did she but alter her position, for an instant relax her hold of his throat, then there rang out upon the night that terrible wail —
“Nan, Ah will! Nan, Ah will; it’s God’s trewth, Nan, Ah will !”
The’r baskets an’ bunn’ls all tumm’l’d ti t’ grun’,
For t’ shadder ‘at cling’d roond his neck tha all kenn’d;
Some trimm’l’d, an’ dithered, an’ coss’d, Ah’ll be bun’.
Some call’d upon t’ Vargin, an’ some on the Lord,
Some stakkard, an’ tumm’l’d, an’ ligg’d wheer they fell,
All sprodden on t’ to’n pike, nut heeding a jot
If Nanny an’ Flinders rade slap into h—Il
T’ road leeaked like a battle wi’ deead ligg’d aboot,
Nobbut them ‘at war deead like warn’t hotten nor ill,
An’ fost yan an’ another louped up an’ off yam,
As tha heard that wild wail, “Nan, Ah will! Nan, Al will.”21“Nan, I will! Nan, I will; it’s God’s truth, Nan, I will!”
Their baskets and bundles all tumbled to the ground,
For the shadow that clung around his neck, they all knew;
Some trembled and shivered, and cursed, I’ll be bound.
Some called upon the Virgin, and some on the Lord,
Some staggered, tumbled, and lay where they fell,
All sprawled on the road, not caring a bit
If Nanny and Flinders rode straight into hell.
The road looked like a battlefield with dead strewn about,
Only those who were dead didn’t feel the heat,
And one after another jumped up and ran home,
As they heard that wild cry, “Nan, I will! Nan, I will.”
• • • • • •
Presently there came along one, a daredevil sort of chap, of whom a wonderful story is told, that he rode down Easby Bank full gallop taking boulder and gap as he came at them, and leaping the force as a wind up. On hearing of Tom’s plight Bill Cass —for that was his name— put spurs to his blood mare, and then began such a race the like of which was never seen before. To give the reader some slight idea how little Bill Cass feared Au’d Nan’s spectre, we give a few of the words he shouted as he drew near to his friend. After making his presence known, he continued —
Thi au’d friend’s ahint tha astride o’ Blood Bess,
To’n the meer roond an’ join ma, wa’ll seean deea for Nan.
Ah’ll skart onny boggle ‘at ere louped a kirk wall.
Punch her i’ t’ wind, lad, all ‘at ivver thee can. 22
Your old friend is behind you, sitting on Blood Bess,
Turn the mare around and join me, we’ll soon do it for Nan.
I’ll scare any goblin that has leaped a church wall.
Punch her in the wind, lad, all that you can ever do.
• • • • • •
But it was all to little purpose. The last four lines tell the end — a fearful end— to a wicked life.
Thoff Bill lashad his tit, an’ spared nut his sporr,
‘Twar all ti neea good, tha still kept aheead,
As tha raced straight for t’ hoos, an’ Nan sha let oot
A skrike fresh fra t’ grave, a parlour hell hoot,
An’ Tom dropped —ay, dropped — on his deearstan’ steean deead.23Though Bill lashed his horse and spared not his whip,
It was all to no avail, you still stayed ahead,
As you raced straight for the house, and Nan let out
A scream fresh from the grave, a parlour’s hell hoot,
And Tom dropped — yes, dropped — on his doorstep stone dead.
- 1‘Au’d Nan o’ Sexhow. | Northern Weekly Gazette | Saturday 02 November 1901 | British Newspaper Archive’. 2022. Britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk <https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/bl/0003075/19011102/150/0021> [accessed 27 September 2022]
- 2manuscript
- 3“Sure, I could have saved myself the journey. Tom Linskill is nothing but a lying scoundrel. He intends to deceive me, but I’ll keep an eye on him. I’ll take legal action against him, mark my words. He took my wheat, and if he doesn’t pay by this time next month, I’ll throw him out onto the street. He assumes that because he married my sister, I’ll ignore his debt. But he’s mistaken, and he’ll realize that soon enough. When my sister died, all ties were severed for good. He means nothing to me, and I’ll teach him that lesson if he fails to pay. I certainly will.”
- 4Well, she’ll make a useful young woman for you. She’ll be worth her keep, and there’s also what Tom left in the house. I know he had a couple of pigs, and one of them weighs about twenty stone, not far from the other. Then there’s a cow, two horses, and other odds and ends. There must be close to fifty pounds altogether.
- 5“Yes, I’ll be kind, hard enough, if you only do as I tell you, and give me neither attitude nor rude words. Now then, dry your eyes, come with me. I want to have a look at the cow and the horse.”
- 6“But we haven’t got either a horse or a cow now, my father sold both over a week ago.”
- 7a large metal pot for culinary purposes; originally a pottage pot.
- 8And neither could he as he sat by his fire,
When twelve strokes from the longcase clock told midnight was near.
So he put down his pipe, and took frequent sips from his glass,
Then he sat stiff in his chair, with fear in his eyes fixed. - 9Something strange was happening itself,
From nothing out of nowhere near the fireplace chair;
It was small, it was dark, but it revealed itself,
In the form of a woman, then Tom screamed in fear. - 10“Hold your silence, Tommy Flinders,” cried a weak voice from the corner.
Turn your head, mate, this way, for I don’t have much time left,
I’ve come for your good, mate, so listen to me,
Your troubles are over, just do as I say. - 11Nan sat still like a shadow, she might have been smoke,
Or shaped from the dust that often dances with the wind,
Or woven from the mist that hangs over the fog,
When the scythe has finished its work, Nan said,
“There you’ll find it—” - 12“It was almost half full of silver and gold;
How he managed to bring it home, no one could ever tell,
But like someone who’s completely drunk stumbling along,
The devil muttered all the way, ‘Keep it all for yourself.’” - 13“It’s yours, Mum, you’ve found it! It was the Lord who sent that dream.
You can pay off the debts and make the farm your own.
You can stock it and work it as you’ve longed to do.
People will soon address you as Mister and flatter you.
You can do as you please without anyone objecting,
There’s nothing you need wait for day or night.
You can hold your head up higher than anyone now.
Do you know you’re well off now, with the world at your feet?” - 14“I gave him all the silver,
I gave you all the gold,
But he withheld your rightful share while you suffer here,
He’s soaked in drink, but his reckoning is near.
When I told him where the money was,
I gave him a year
To settle his own debts, to fulfill his promise to you.
To marry you, my dear, your fair share by rights.
My warning is clear, they never leaked,
But associated with any loose person off the streets.
He’s drunk more than a fish, lived worse than a hog,
There’s no soap in Heaven that could cleanse his heart.
He has committed all kinds of evil deeds,
But lately, he has done nothing that he should have done.
But his time is almost up, his days are numbered,
But once again, lass, the sun will shine over your head,
But when it sets, that’s the end for him,
Because before it rises again, I swear he’ll be dead.” - 15And besides, lass, I’ve sworn by the nine sods of my grave,
By the six men I encountered with no one in between,
By the nine nails that fasten my coffin lid down,
And by her whom you embraced late at night over the green;
I’ve sworn by the last bat that chirps a day gone,
I’ve sworn too by the ground where the lifeless ones lie,
By the girl who you pierced through the chest with a stake,
I’ve sworn he shall die, and Bill shall dig his grave. - 16And that very night, as Tom sat in his chair,
With a suspicious object in his hand,
Though drunk as can be, he dropped the great swab,
For he had enough wit to recognize Nan.
He saw her as pale as a bleached sheet,
Yes, as white as a newly painted house,
As light-headed and dizzy as a scarecrow in the fog,
And as quiet as a cat lying in wait for a mouse.
Though Tom’s tongue was tied, his lips parched and dry,
The fumes of drink muddled his brain,
But his senses held on, while he stared at Nan,
Dumbfounded, he sat gripped with pain. - 17She vanished in an instant, gone in a flash,
Not a word had she spoken, not a sign did she make.
She said nothing, she did nothing, but disappeared
As silent as death when it comes in one’s path. - 18Finally, he reached Mary’s house —
But those who were standing at Stokesley Town end
Saw a sight so terrifying it made them all scream.
It looked like something that was wicked, truth be told or a lie,
Appearing as real, or perhaps just a figment of the imagination. - 19As he raced by her door, over the doorstep there bounced.
Not Mary but Nan, it was clear
To all who were standing and saw her leap,
It was she who had been dead a year.
When Tom felt her arms twined around his neck
He cried out in fear, “Nan, I will,
Just give me one chance, it’s God’s truth, I swear.”
But with the sound of the horse’s hoofs, all was still.
“She’s squeezing his throat as true as death,” shouted one,
“She’s broken the grave bonds to kill,”
And then far away there rang on the night air,
The wild cry of despair, “Nan, I will.” - 20When they heard the awesome cry, they held their whip hand,
Chasing goblins that aimed were a dangerous lot,
And if Flinders had gotten Nan’s goblin behind,
It was through the hill he had worked, so you took your own way. - 21“Nan, I will! Nan, I will; it’s God’s truth, Nan, I will!”
Their baskets and bundles all tumbled to the ground,
For the shadow that clung around his neck, they all knew;
Some trembled and shivered, and cursed, I’ll be bound.
Some called upon the Virgin, and some on the Lord,
Some staggered, tumbled, and lay where they fell,
All sprawled on the road, not caring a bit
If Nanny and Flinders rode straight into hell.
The road looked like a battlefield with dead strewn about,
Only those who were dead didn’t feel the heat,
And one after another jumped up and ran home,
As they heard that wild cry, “Nan, I will! Nan, I will.” - 22
Your old friend is behind you, sitting on Blood Bess,
Turn the mare around and join me, we’ll soon do it for Nan.
I’ll scare any goblin that has leaped a church wall.
Punch her in the wind, lad, all that you can ever do. - 23Though Bill lashed his horse and spared not his whip,
It was all to no avail, you still stayed ahead,
As you raced straight for the house, and Nan let out
A scream fresh from the grave, a parlour’s hell hoot,
And Tom dropped — yes, dropped — on his doorstep stone dead.
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