Was this ever
a welcome sight! Coming down off the wet, windswept
moors and walking along a gray rain-soaked Swaledale,
we wandered into Gunnerside not knowing what to expect
from the pub, but as long as it was dry inside, we
did not really care. What we got was a very friendly,
unpretentious welcome from a couple who obviously
enjoyed their pub, a warm fire, two cats, great beer,
good food and generally a remarkably pleasant break
in the day's walk.
I would go back
to this pub in a heartbeat, and it is one of the few
pubs to have gained our prestigious '200-Mile Award',
whereby an establishment is worth a 200-mile detour
in whatever journey you happen to be making at the
time. Try it some time. Drive around, anywhere in
England, and suddenly say, "How about a trip
to the King’s Head in Gunnerside?'. I guarantee
that if you traveling companions have been to Gunnerside
before, they will wholeheartedly endorse your plan.
One of the beers was made
exclusively for this pub in a small brewery four doors
down.
By Fred.
Fred brews an
average of a barrel-and-a-half of beer a week, and
in those small circles of beer aficionados, his production
is legendary. The King Ale was excellent, and the
cleverly-named Swaled Ale was not far behind. He also
produces a beer call 'Staggered' and one he simply
calls 'Freds'.
As our clothes hung over
the backs of chairs in front of the fire, gently steaming,
we were joined by more walkers, a grand old dog, and
another round of drinks. This was an all-around pleasant
stop, and I have discovered later that it is a favorite
of several beer writers and eulogizers.
On our way up to Gunnerside, we had passed by a stone
slab by the wayside, upon which, in the past, corpses
were laid. I kid you not! This road is part of the
Corpse Way used by funeral parties when they carried
their dead from the west end of the Dale to a final
resting place at the parish church of Grinton, a little
further on eastwards from our target for the day,
Reeth. One Dr Whitaker, writing 150 years ago wrote:
"Before interments began to take place at Muker,
the bodies of the dead were conveyed for burial upon
men's shoulders upwards of twelve miles to the parish
church, not in coffins, but in crude wicker baskets.
Two pallbearers were supplied from each of these hamlets
in addition to the family bearers, so that carrying
could be done in relays. Traveling from the head of
Swaledale to Grinton would take at least two days,
depending on the state of the weather. Just along
from the village of Gunnerside are the ruined foundations
of a building known as the 'dead house', where the
wicker coffins were left in safety while the procession
slipped down to what is now the Kings Head, to rest
and refresh themselves. Two funeral parties using
the wayside mortuary at the same time realized, only
after the burial service had taken place, and when
the effects of the refreshment had worn off, that
the bodies had been interred in the wrong graves".
We remember Gunnerside
in a slightly different light from our last walk two
years ago, when the Herriot Way took us through the
wild Gunnerside Gill above this village, through the
old lead mining country. In the bleakness up there
we could see the glimpse of civilization that is Gunnerside,
but we never actually got here until today. The Kings
Head would have been a popular destination back in
those mining days, probably the peak of its four hundred
year history.
There is little record
of prehistoric occupation in Swaledale although the
area was most certainly inhabited. An unusual earthwork
exists called Maiden Castle on Harkerside, though
they are not sure of its age. We skirted around its
feet, as we made our way east through Swaledale. There
is a dyke at Fremington, which was constructed by
the Brigantes, the same crowd that put together Tor
Dyke above Coverdale, as a defense against the Roman
legions who advanced from the south around 70 AD.
Several centuries
after the Romans left, the region was over-run by
the Vikings who swarmed into Swaledale from the east.
Once the Vikings had hung round for a while, the Norsemen
came. The Norse used the fells for summer grazing
on small farm areas, which they called 'saetrs'. The
word changed by use to 'seat', 'side' or 'sett' still
survives in various place names such as Lunersett,
Gunnerside and Ravenseat.
Indeed, many
of the names that appear in North Yorkshire are hard
to find elsewhere in the country, and are evocative
of its rich invasionary past. A lot of Old Norse,
some Welsh, much Old English. You will find a lot
of 'Thwaites' (meaning a clearing) in Yorkshire, but
just you try to find one in Kent. Even words that
make sense to us now, actually meant something different.
Try 'Crackpot'. It actually comes from Old Norse krakka
and potte meaning 'The crevice where crows nest'.
Even the 'Tan' of Tan Hill Pub has nothing to do with
being brown, but instead comes from the ancient Icelandic
'teinn' meaning a boundary marker.
Some words are
still used here long after they have died out elsewhere,
and I strongly suspect that since I was an outsider,
many Dales people reserved their best Queen’s
English for me, although even that was occasionally
unintelligible. 'Byre' is a common word for a barn,
'mell' for a hammer.
All of which is
a reflection of the past, traditions and words and
stories handed down through generations comparatively
isolated from other influences. Less cosmopolitan,
more independent, Yorkshire folk embrace their past,
and carry it with pride.
