The Evolution of an English Town | Page 2

Skeleton of Bronze Age
A Quern
Urns in Pickering Museum
Sketch Map of Roman Road and Camps
The Tower of Middleton Church
Ancient Font and Crosses
Saxon Sundial at Kirkdale
Saxon Sundial at Edstone
Pre-Norman Remains near Pickering
Saxon Stones at Kirkdale
Saxon Stones at Sinnington
South Side of the Nave of Pickering Church
Norman Doorway at Salton
Norman Work at Ellerburne
The Crypt at Lastingham
Norman Font at Edstone
Wall Paintings in Pickering Church
The Devil's Tower, Pickering Castle
Wall Painting of St Christopher
Wall Painting of St Edmund and Acts of Mercy
Wall Painting of Herod's Feast and Martyrdom of St Thomas À Becket
Effigy of Sir William Bruce
Effigies in Bruce Chapel

Holy Water Stoup in Pickering Church
Sanctus Bell
Cattle Marks
Section of Fork Cottage
Details of Fork Cottage
Pickering Castle from the Keep
Pre-Reformation Chalice
Font at Pickering Church
Alms Box at Pickering Church
House in which Duke of Buckingham Died
Maypole on Sinnington Green
Inverted Stone Coffin at Wykeham
Magic Cubes
Newtondale, showing the Coach Railway
Relics of Witchcraft
A Love Garter
Horn of the Sinnington Hunt
Interior of the Oldest Type of Cottage
Ingle-Nook at Gallow Hill Farm
Autographs of Wordsworth and Mary Hutchinson
Riding t' Fair
Halbert and Spetum
Old Key of Castle
Pickering Shambles
The Old Pickering Fire-Engine
Market Cross at Thornton-le-Dale
Lockton Village
The Black Hole of Thornton-le-Dale
Hutton Buscel Church
Sketch Map of the Pickering District

INTRODUCTION
Every preface in olden time was wont to begin with the address
"Lectori Benevolo"--the indulgence of the reader being thereby
invoked and, it was hoped, assured. In that the writer of this at least
would have his share, even though neither subject, nor author, that he
introduces, may stand in need of such a shield.

Local histories are yearly becoming more numerous. In few places is
there more justification for one than here.
I. The beauty of the scenery is not well known. This book should do
something to vindicate its character. There is no need on this point to
go back to the time of George III.'s conversation at the levée with Mrs
Pickering's grandfather. "I suppose you are going back to Yorkshire,
Mr Stanhope? A very ugly country, Yorkshire." This was too much for
my grandfather--(the story is told in her own words)--"We always
consider Yorkshire a very picturesque country." "What, what, what,"
said the King, "a coalpit a picturesque object! what, what, what,
Yorkshire coalpits picturesque! Yorkshire a picturesque country!"[1]
Only within the last few months one of us had a letter refusing to
consider a vacant post: the reason given being that this was a colliery
district. There is no pit to be found for miles. Many can, and do, walk,
cycle, or motor through the Vale. Others, who are unable to come and
see for themselves, will, with the help of Mr Home, be in a better
position to appreciate at its true worth the charm of the haughs and the
changing views of the distant Wolds, and of the russet brown or purple
expanse of the upland moors.
[Footnote 1: "Memoirs of Anna M.W. Pickering."]
II. The stranger on a visit, no less the historian or antiquary, has till
now often been puzzled for a clue, and ignorant where to turn for
authentic data, would he attempt to weave for himself a connected idea
of the incidents of the past and their bearing on the present. There has
been no lack of material buried in ancient records, or preserved in the
common oral traditions of the folk: but hitherto no coherent account
that has been published. Speaking for ourselves, we are glad the task of
dealing with the "raffled hank" of timeworn customs and obscure
traditions as well as the more easily ascertained facts of history is
falling to the author's practised pen. For the future, at any rate, there
should be less difficulty in understanding the manner of life and
method of rule with which past and present generations belonging to
the Town of Pickering have been content to dwell.
III. "Foreigners"[1] are sometimes at a loss to understand the peculiar
spirit of those who in York, for instance, are known as "Moor-enders."
This spirit shows itself in different ways; but perhaps in nothing so
much as the intense attachment of the townsmen to their birthplace.

This local patriotism is no whit behind that to be found in
Spain--"seldom indeed a Spaniard says he is a Spaniard, but speaks of
himself as being from Seville, Cadiz, or some forgotten town in La
Mancha, of which he speaks with pride, referring to it as 'mi tierra.'"[2]
Our readers will learn there is some reason for this attachment; and
may, like some of us, who tho' born elsewhere claim adoption as
citizens, fall under the witchery of its spell.