Wandering Minstrels; Or, Wails of The Workless Poor
Dean is a small settlement about 3 miles due east of Goodshaw Chapel. The places are not connected by road, rather by several of the countless footpaths that criss-cross the moorlands of the area. These paths are exposed and high, potentially dangerous in the winter months. The musicians would have walked these paths to reach their place of worship and music-making. Edwin Waugh, in his 'Home-Life of the Lancashire Factory Folk during the Cotton Famine' gives a vivid but historically interesting insight into the lives of the Larks of Dean in the following passage:
"Up in the forest of Rosendale, between Deerply Moor and the wild hill called Swinshaw, there is a little lone valley, a green cup in the mountains, called "Dean." The inhabitants of this valley are so notable for their love of music, that they are known all through the vales of Rosendale as "Th' Deighn Layrocks," or "The Larks of Dean."
"In the twilight of a glorious Sunday evening, in the height of summer, I was roaming over the heathery waste of Swinshaw, towards Dean, in company with a musical friend of mine, who lived in the neighbouring clough, when we saw a little crowd of people coming down a moorland slope, far away in front of us. As they drew nearer, we found that many of them had musical instruments, and when we met, my friend recognised them as working people living in the district, and mostly well known to him. He inquired where they had been; and they told him that they had "bin to a bit ov a sing deawn i'th Deighn." "Well," said he, "can't we have a tune here?" "Sure, yo con, wi' o' th' plezzur i'th world," replied he who acted as spokesman; and a low buzz of delighted consent ran through the rest of the company. They then ranged themselves in a circle around their conductor, and they played and sang several fine pieces of psalmody upon the heather-scented mountain top."
Read more about this topic: Larks Of Dean
Famous quotes containing the words wandering and/or poor:
““Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.””
—Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849)
“We are living in a demented world. And we know it. It would not come as a surprise to anyone if tomorrow the madness gave way to a frenzy which would leave our poor Europe in a state of distracted stupor, with engines still turning and flags streaming in the breeze, but with the spirit gone.”
—Johan Huizinga (1872–1945)