August 27, 1966

SPECTATOR in the D&S Times revealed that he was delighted that the Ministry of Housing had sent its inspectors to list the historic buildings of Masham.

“Obviously the elegant and spacious market area has many buildings which ought to be protected against unwise development,” he wrote in the edition of 50 years ago, “for the little town could so easily lose its character if great changes were permitted.”

He continued: “It is nice to know that that antiquarian frolic, the Druid’s Temple in Ilton parish, is to be preserved. Perhaps there will be for a generation or two yet, something left if the town that was familiar to that oddly-named gentleman whose monument graces the interior of Masham church, Sir Abstrupus Danby.”

Sir Abstrupus (1655-1727) does indeed have one of the finest names of all time.

He was a wool merchant who inherited Scruton Hall (which featured here last week) in 1695. He promptly sold it and built a far larger property, Swinton Park, near Masham.

He stood unsuccessfully for parliament in Ripon in 1691, so when he stood for Aldborough in 1898, he made sure he won by offering free beer and coal to voters. His opponents nicknamed him “Sir Scrupulous Danby” and tried to have the poll reversed because of his bribery. Consequently, he was defeated in 1701.

His name is indeed most unusual – it does not appear in the 6,000-plus entries in the Oxford Dictionary of First Names. It is said that his parents wished to christen him “Antrobus” (which also does not appear in the dictionary), but a befuddled parson at the font, fortified by the communion wine, only managed to slur out “Abstrupus”, and the babe was named.

But Abstrupus liked it so much that he saddled his son with the same moniker. Abstrupus the second, who was also known as the Lord of Mashamshire, married a lady called Battina, which is another no-show in the dictionary.

In 1820, William, a member of the family with a straightforward name, built the Druids’ Temple, a folly, to which Spectator also refers.

August 26, 1916

AN attack in another newspaper on the lack of “fighting dalesmen” on the Somme led Mary Elizabeth Garth of Haverdell House, near Isles at Low Row, to write a long and eloquent defence.

Her family had been farming for at least nine generations in upper Swaledale, and she told how in 1851, the population of the Reeth Union (upper Swaledale and Arkengarthdale) had had a population of 6,280. By 1911, it was 2,396, the majority of whom were women, children and old people. The

The larger population was because “the lead mines had not then been made unprofitable by unchecked foreign competition”, she wrote in a letter that well exceeded today’s 400-word limit. “Then came tragedy – the mines closed and the people who depended upon them were forced to go elsewhere or starve.”

So, she said, the dalesmen were fighting, only in the colours of the Durham coal miners or even for Canadian regiments.

Agriculture was the only employment in the dale, and the dalesmen were not quitters. How would you, she asked her critic, “like alone to be responsible for one thousand sheep on Shunnor Fell (her spelling) or any of our moors in a snowstorm, at clipping, dipping, or lambing times, or even for a few hot, close, days in summer when there is a large population of maggot flies about. We would wish you the experience had we less sympathy with the sheep”.

The critic had attacked daleswomen for not allowing their men to go to the front, but Mrs Garth replied: “Is there any reason why an elderly widow in the dales should do heavy farm work when her only son goes for training while men are still employed selling tea cloths, lace curtains and much more flimsy things in town shops?

“Our lonely places have no amusements such as are still going on in towns, and few or none of the conveniences of modern times.

“The people should not be libelled, for they done much in proportion to their numbers and their means.”

August 25, 1866

VERY curious goings on in “the beautiful village of Hurworth” 150 years ago. A correspondent who signed himself A Visitor wrote: “I was surprised and disgusted to witness such a heartless destruction of property as seldom occurs in a respectable rural village.

“A wall, newly erected by the highly esteemed clergyman, was, during the darkness of midnight, razed to the foundation. The railings (around the school playground), placed there at Mr Collyer’s expense to prevent the children from accident ...were also totally destroyed.

“It seems incredible that anyone should be guilty of such an act of barbarity. There being almost certain evidence who the delinquents are, I think the sooner they are horsewhipped across or into the Tees, the better.”

Immediately beneath it was a riposte from A Parishioner who had clearly been tipped off about A Visitor’s opinions.

“Now, sir,” wrote A Parishioner, “the facts are these. In the course of considerable alterations made at the rectory, it was thought advisable to take the boundary wall about eight feet forward, enclosing so much of the public green within our highly respected rector’s pleasure grounds.

“The people being disrespectfully treated by the clerk of the works whenever the encroachment was spoken of, some of the villagers took upon themselves to settle the dispute by putting the wall down, which was, done, I believe, with as little injury to material as possible.

“Now, sir, I think the inhabitants of Hurworth would have proved themselves a priest ridden people if they had submitted to such encroachments.”