General

“Well, men I’ve got some good news for you… Oh you mean our rifles have come? … No, but the ammunition has!”

On this day, 14 May 1940,  Anthony Eden, Secretary of State for War addressed the nation on the formation of the Local Defence Volunteers [LDV],  later called the Home Guard.  They wanted men aged between 17 and 65 who were not already engaged in military service to enlist. They were to assist in the defence of the county in case of an enemy invasion.

“You will not been paid, but you will get a uniform and will be armed. In order to volunteer you need to give your name and address to your local police station”.  As a big fan of ‘Dads Army’ I can visualise them all squashed in the police station and Mr Mainwaring taking control!

The Blyth News and Ashington Post wrote on 23 May 1940, that the local police stations had been busy and the latest figures of applications were:- 

Blyth – 1000

Ashington – 1350

Bedlington – 1080

Seaton Delaval – 500

Newbiggin – 400

Although, there was a good number of applicants under the age of 20, most were ex-servicemen and many were Boer War veterans like Corporal Jones from the show. Several men were over the age limit of 65, but were attesting they were 64! That reminds me of the episode when Jones, Frazer and Godfrey dye their hair and enrich their skin, Sergeant Wilson wears  a “gentleman’s abdominal support” even  Captain Mainwaring dons a toupee  to look young. At the end, it starts to rain and the hair dye and make up begin to run down their faces!

The Newcastle Journal reported on 16 May that the first recruit to sign up in Berwick was a 17-year-old wagon driver. On 24 May, an announcement of the Officers in charge of the Berwick Police District was released. Captain the Honourable Claude Lambton was the Group Commander, his second-in-command was Colonel The Honourable H.E. Joicey and there were 600 – 700 volunteers.

We also hold the diaries of Major R. Miller, Company Commander of Alnwick Home Guard [Ref NRO 1110] and these are like reading episodes of Dad’s Army. Mention is made of making Molotoff cocktails [improvised petrol bombs], setting up road blocks, bayonet fighting, Home Guard cars, training exercises and acting as German paratroopers. The only thing missing is the Novelty Rock Emporium! 

For generations the people occupying the area around Hedley on the Hill, near Stocksfield in Northumberland, reported being tormented by a mischievous “bogie”, or sprite. The Kow apparently took delight in frightening people by shapeshifting and creating chaos before laughing and retreating. 

In the fairy tale collected by Australian folklorist Joseph Jacobs, the Kow toys with an old woman who finds a pot of gold by the side of the road. Each time the woman looks into the pot its contents have changed, first from gold to silver, then to iron, and finally to a rock. The woman, of a positive persuasion, is not upset, reasoning that silver is less likely to be stolen, iron is easier to sell and a rock will make a good doorstop.  When the Kow reveals itself and trots away laughing the woman reflects on her luck at seeing such a spectacle.

Other recorded tales make the Kow seem less whimsical and more frightening. In a variation of the fairy tale the Kow disguises itself as a pile of kindling, becoming heavier and heavier once collected by the old woman Goody Blake. When Goody sets the bundle down it springs to life and shuffles along the road after her, laughing and dancing before vanishing. 

The Kow would impersonate lovers, beckoning men to secluded spots before giving chase or imitating boyfriends’ voices to lure ladies outdoors so that it could interfere with objects in the home or workplace while its sport was distracted.

While never playing with recently bereaved people the Kow was seemingly fond of attending births, mocking expectant mothers in labour pain and needing to be chased from the dwelling. One midwife’s messenger was a regular target, the Kow enjoying spooking his horse. 

The entity often appeared in animal form and this is presumably why it became known as the “Kow”. It would adopt the form of a milkmaid’s favourite cow and lead her on a chase around the fields, allow itself to be caught and then thrashing and kicking throughout milking before upsetting the bucket and running away.

The Kow is not the only such apparition in Northumberland. Various “Brags” have been written about although they were usually less considerate of mourners and their pranks sometimes bordered on the macabre. 

This tale uses the historic spelling of Knaresdale.

Knaresdale Hall, about four and a half miles south-west from Haltwhistle, anciently the seat and manor of the Pratts, has the reputation of being haunted. The Laird of Knaresdale, a more than middle aged man, married, against her inclination, but with the consent of her parents, a lady of great wealth and beauty. She was of course, several years his junior.

The beauty tolerated her husband but soon became attached to his nephew, a strapping young fellow just out of his teens. Together with his sister, a year or younger than himself, they were under their uncle’s guardianship and formed part of the family at the hall. 

An illicit affair began! All was well until they were surprised one day by the laird’s niece, who, horror struck at what she saw, ran away and hid herself in her room. Terrified at the thought of her brother being banished, she resolved to say nothing to her uncle but take the first opportunity of remonstrating with her infatuated brother. However, the guilty pair could have no assurance that the young lady would act such a prudent part; and so, fearful of exposure, they determined to silence her.

It was a night fitting for the deed. Amid the thick and moonless gloom the storm raged wildly. At the height of the storm the laird was roused by his wife who directed his attention to a fearful din caused by an open door at the rear of the hall. She suggested his niece should be sent to try to close it. The poor girl wrapped herself in a cloak and left her apartment. Shivering with cold and pelted with the pitiless rain, she walked the dreary passage and was about to attempt to close the door when she spotted her brother standing next to an old pond. The wicked man hastily grabbed his sister and plunged her into its murky depths.

The laird, anxious for the safety of his niece and alarmed by the length of her absence, left his bed in search of her, but to no avail. On returning, his wife persuaded him that she must have entered the hall during his absence and retired unseen. Satisfied with this explanation, he once again settled down to sleep, but was soon disturbed by the howling of one of his dogs. Starting up in fear, he beheld his niece standing by the kitchen fire, wringing water from her long hair. He spoke, but at the sound of his voice, the apparition vanished.

What became of the guilty brother? The murderer of his sister! Nobody knows…. As for the laird’s wife, she fell deadly sick of a brain fever, became delirious, and in her incoherent ravings, babbled about the fateful night. The pond was dragged and the body discovered; but nobody could tell how the calamity had occurred. The laird’s faithless spouse died, raving mad. 

A ghost, it is said, was afterwards seen to glide from the back door of the hall to the fatal pond on the anniversary night of the murder. Some unseen agency would also burst the door wide open, however strongly it may have been barred. The sound of it clashing on its rusty hinges creating an eerie echo. Those who heard it generally found that before long, the unhallowed sound boded them no good! However, as time drew on the ghost vanished while the door that once behaved so abominably was either blocked up or learned better manners!