Last week, after Mum had told me about West Witton and some of the stories that might relate to Bartle Burning, I got her to tell me about the ceremony itself and what happened when she went there.
First of all, she said it was a very special day – and not just because she and her partner were going to the Bartle Burning ceremony. It was also special because this was the first proper day out in the Dales that they’d had since her partner had been taken ill the previous year – and, even better, they were going to meet up with their bestest friend and his wife who’d recently returned to the UK after working in South Africa for three years.
Their friends were staying at the Fox and Hounds in West Burton in Bishopdale and Mum and her partner arranged to meet up with them there in the late afternoon.
As this was not quite 5 miles/8 kms from West Witton, they had time for a quick catch-up and a lovely early evening meal.
Then they set off to see Bartle’s effigy being paraded along the main street and then set on fire, but first they had to find a parking place. Luckily Mum had thought to check this out beforehand and knew there’d be a little cul-de-sac just as she drove into West Witton from West Burton and she could park on there, so long as she didn’t block anyone’s driveway.
That was also quite close to where the procession was going to start, but they decided to walk further into the village and joined the crowds of people waiting by the Wensleydale Heifer.
This is one of the places where the procession stops, the Bartle poem is chanted and drinks are served to the two men carrying Bartle’s effigy. Then it moves on down the village street and most of the people who’d been waiting by the Wensleydale Heifer tag along behind.
As you know, I still hadn’t been borned at that time and so I’d to ask Mum to tell me the words of the Bartle poem and she said it goes like this.
That didn’t make a lot of sense to me, and so she explained that all the place names belong to real places in the area and the poem relates to the route that Bartle took when he was trying to escape and also tells us of the misfortunes that befell him on the way.
I also asked Mum what the Bartle effigy looked like and she said it was a bit like a Guy Fawkes, with a body and limbs made from old work-clothes, firmly stuffed with straw. His head was also made of straw, with sheep wool for his beard and his hair, but his face was a scary mask with green eyes that flashed on and off. He was also quite heavy as it took two men to carry him.
When Mum and her friends went to join on the procession, however, they had a bit of a disaster. As they set off, one front wheel of her partner’s wheelchair caught in the top of a grate and suddenly he was stuck.
An elderly farmer kindly stopped and asked what was wrong. Mum’s partner replied that he was “rigged” – a good old Yorkshire word for being unable to move in any direction. The farmer smiled knowingly and told Mum’s partner that he was “Just like one o’ mi’ gimmer yows!” and, with a quick pull, got him free.
After that, all went smoothly. They followed the procession down the street with several pre-arranged stops at premises along the way, where the Bartle poem was repeated and more drinks were brought out for the two men who were carrying Bartle.
And finally they reached the edge of the village, where a little lane called Grassgill Lane joined the main road from the right. The head of the procession turned in and everyone followed.
In a quiet spot, with nothing but open fields and a starlit sky beyond, Bartle was propped up against a stone wall. The poem was recited one last time. Everybody cheered. Then his mask and his flashing eyes were quickly removed – to be used again the following year – and he was set alight.
As the flames died down, people began to drift away. Mum and her partner and their friends joined them, making their way along the almost unlit street, back to their car at the other end of the village. Then it was on to West Burton to drop their friends off at the Fox and Hounds, before setting off to drive back home down the dales.
But I’ll tell you more about that in a couple of weeks, as my next three posts are going to be a bit different from what I’ve been writing of late. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them, however, so take care and stay safe – and I’ll talk to you again soon!
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12/05/2022
Wilf the bear-faced blogger 