I always
thought I knew what the name Kettlewell meant. When
stones in streams get caught in an eddy, they start
to revolve, and in certain types of bedrock, these
stones can actually burrow downwards and create a
sort of shaft going into the rock. These holes are
called "kettles", hence the name, or so
I recalled from Mr.Gayton’s Physical Geography
lessons in High School.
The oldest known
record of Kettlewell is in the famous Domesday Survey
of 1086, where the name is given as Cheteleuuelle,
but by 1189 it had become Ketelwell. The name is probably
from the Anglian, cetel wella, and means a bubbling
spring or stream.
Since this piece
of information comes from a gentleman by the name
of David Kettlewell, I can only bow to his superior
knowledge and vested interest. However, Mr.Kettlewell
goes on to say, "It may be pointed out here that
there are other explanations of the name: one is that
it can be the Viking name Kjetils Vall, the farmstead
established by Kjetil." So maybe he is not sure
either.
Chances are that
there were settlements here before the Domesday Book,
since some of the fields to the south of the village
before you get down to the striking Kilnsey Crag,
have slight, parallel terraces, called lynchets, made
by Anglian farmers in their plowing. These and the
whole arrangement of the village and its pastures
are typical of an Anglian village of about the Seventh
or Eighth Century.
The arrangement
of the village is certainly unusual: There is a central
block of houses, with tortuous roads encircling it,
a design which lends itself very poorly to modern
traffic that tends to want to actually get somewhere.
This layout differs to say a town on the English /
Scottish border, where there would be a road straight
through with houses turned 45 degrees to each other
at one end to act as a narrows which could easily
barricaded against the Scots; or a southern market
town that would have a central cobbled market area.
Kettlewell suffers
a little from tourists and from weekend-only residents,
but it is still a nice village to wander about in,
especially since there are no fewer than three pubs
here, two on the main street facing each other, and
one tucked away a little on the east side of the village,
the Kings Head. We had enjoyed a bracing walk up over
the top from Coverdale and along the historic but
little-known Tor Dyke. From the Wharfedale side, Tor
Dyke is an impressive structure. It is bisected by
the modern road across Scale Park and is evocative
of a distant age when the Brigantes ruled the Pennines.
Brigantes is an
all-encompassing term for residents of that era, largely
encompassing "native residents who were repeatedly
stomped on by technically and militarily superior
invading foes". When the Brigantes were being
stomped on by the Romans, their defense lines, despite
their impressive size, were little match for such
ruthless and well-organized adversaries. The Romans
had the ballastae, war machines specifically designed
for attacking fortifications, and must have been the
equivalent of today's nuclear weapon. The quick result
was a rout that signaled the end of the Brigantes
dominance of the Pennines.
Then the Kings
Head was built. Then they got Black Sheep beer. This
was my first sip of beer from Masham's Black Sheep
Brewery on this trip, and what an excellent drop of
beer it was too. The first pint slipped down in a
matter of minutes, partly due to nine miles of walking,
but also due to it being delicious. Later on the trip
I was to find out why Black Sheep beer is so uniformly
good, and I will share that information with you.
Later.
For now, we need
to discuss Cumberland Sausage. Cumberland is a county
that no longer exists, and I was born it in. It became
Cumbria at some point, and took in some other areas
that were perfectly respectable counties like Westmoreland,
which is why you end up with towns like Appleby-in-Westmorland
being in Cumbria. Who knows, it might all come back
some time when people decide that they like the old
counties better. I lived in another one of these new-fangled
counties, Avon, for a dozen years. Did that catch
on? No. Is it still around? No. Anyway, Cumberland
sausage is a sausage dish that has gone beyond county
boundaries, has been adopted by people south of the
Watford Gap and has largely been lost in the eagerness
to slap the "Cumberland" label on any crappy
bit of sausage in order to sell it.
True Cumberland
sausage is difficult to find, and is a pleasure to
eat. People in Cumbria go miles out of their way just
to find that too-rare village butcher shop that is
having a bit of luck making it just right. We have
the solution. We have found that many butchers will
make food to order, if you order enough, so once we
had identified one, we went back and forth fine-tuning
the recipe until we ended up with what we considered
the perfect Cumberland sausage. Since you have been
considerate enough to purchase this book, we will
give you the consideration of sharing our recipe with
you.
5 pounds pork
2 tablespoons sage
1 ¾ tablespoons white pepper
1 teaspoon marjoram
2 ounces salt
2 teaspoons rosemary
2 teaspoons thyme
All figures are
US measures.
The key is in
the coarseness of the grind. Too fine and it has texture
like a hot dog. Too coarse and none of the flavors
come through. Also, the butcher needs to make the
sausage in long coils, not in short standard links.
Cooking is simple: Boil them up, then put them on
an outdoor charcoal grill to brown them. Serve with
peas and French fries.
I share this with
you because it is my heritage.
