A rainbow graces the Pennine valley of Great Rundale, near Dufton—a charming touch to a landscape turned into an industrial graveyard. The old lead and barytes mines have left their mark: adits, crumbling shafts, stone hut ruins, and vast heaps of rocky waste. The track winding up the dale carries the faint memory of men trudging out from Dufton to spend their days breaking their backs, all for the reward of returning to their beds at night.
Most of this delightful desolation can be credited to the Dutton Fell Barytes Company Limited, which operated in the late 19th century. Like the last Ice Age, it seems to have swept away anything of interest that came before it.
The mines themselves were worked over old lead-mining levels, first opened by the Quaker-owned London Lead Company. Their dream of striking it rich amidst the Cumberland and Westmorland hills sank as surely as £40,000 of their money into the ground—a literal and financial collapse worthy of pity or schadenfreude, depending on one’s mood.
Barytes, or “heavy spar,” is barium sulphate—a mineral prized for its density and often found alongside lead ore. Once dismissed as waste, it eventually became a valuable commodity in the late 19th century. Its crystals, which range in colour from white to brown and may be translucent or transparent, are as insoluble as they are non-poisonous—a small consolation, perhaps.
The men and boys of Dufton spent their days washing and sorting this mineral, picking out any trace of lead or silver worth selling. The rest—mostly barytes—was sent down to Dufton mill to be dried, ground into fine powder, and packed for transport. This powder found its way into everything from pottery to paper to paint. The pure white barytes were prized for watercolours, while the lower-grade material ended up in cheap paint—durable, affordable, and perfect for a world that evidently loves a bargain.
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