WE are approaching the season of Michaelmas that has long been one of the milestones of the rural calendar, with Michaelmas Day being the focus of a range of activities. This year the Feast of St Michael the Archangel arrives on Monday.

Perhaps one of the best known pieces of Michaelmas folklore is that the devil spits on brambles on the saint’s feast day; in some areas it is said he puts his foot on the fruit, while in other localities he does things that are infinitely worse. Or so it is said.

What it means, of course, is that the season’s brambles, often known as blackberries, are past their best by this stage of the year. They become rather mushy and unpleasant to eat but this is not due to the action of the devil. The culprit is the flesh-fly that dribbles its saliva onto the brambles. That makes them go soft and mushy which in turn means the fly can feast on them by sucking up the juice.

Among the rustic features of Michaelmas are the goose fairs.

Over the centuries, they were popular features of rural England on Michaelmas Day, often being organised by landowners for their tenants. The largest was always in Nottingham but it was not held until October 3. Sheep sales and hiring fairs were also held at Michaelmas.

One interesting custom in some parts of Yorkshire was that rose hips were picked and turned into a type of syrup that was drunk on Michaelmas Day. For this reason, the day became known as Hipping Day. Other customs included cracking nuts on the Eve of Michaelmas but the origin and purpose of that practice remain very obscure.

The only reference I could find was that it was a night of great rejoicing with mysterious rites and ceremonies. Sounds intriguing.

And more locally of course, the famous Bainbridge Horn is sounded every evening from Hawes Back End Fair until Shrove Tuesday.

IHAVE been reminded that Great Smeaton between Northallerton and Darlington featured in one of the last and best remembered local dramas from the Golden Age of Coaching.

Thanks to coaching prints and costume dramas on television, many of us are aware of that era when colourful stage coaches drawn by teams of mighty horses ran from town to town throughout the country to produce what are now known as coaching inns. Many of those inns can be recognised by the high archways that lead into the rear yards where horses were once maintained, with one of the leading inns in this area being the Golden Lion at Northallerton.

One of the coaches using the Great North Road between Northallerton and Great Smeaton was the Wellington. It changed horses at the Golden Lion, its driver being Ralph Soulsby.

He was said to be ‘a terror to drive’ and one surviving story tells of a race between Soulsby and an opposition coach. So fierce was Soulsby’s driving on the seven mile stretch between Great Smeaton and Northallerton that he killed three of the four horses. The third dropped dead from exhaustion outside Northallerton parish church and Soulsby arrived at the Golden Lion with only one horse.

The Wellington was the oldest and longest serving coach upon that route and it was the last to survive. As the railways expanded, however, with faster and more comfortable journeys being available, the people began to abandon travel by stagecoach. Although the Wellington had fought and beaten many opposition coaches, it could not compete against the might and speed of the railways.

The end came when a Wellington, driven by Thomas Layfield who one of the finest and most respected of drivers, left Edinburgh to arrive empty at Darlington.

It was empty when it reached Northallerton and again when it arrived in Thirsk. Layfield knew it was all over.

He was a Northallerton man who had driven most of the coaches on the roads between Ferrybridge and Darlington. He was known as one of the cleverest and best of drivers who had spent a lifetime on the box seat, and was respected by all privileged to have had him as a coach driver.

WHILE on the subject of Great Smeaton, it is interesting to speculate that its parish church might be the only one in England dedicated to St Eloy. His name can be spelt as either Eloi or Eligius.

Elio was born near Limoges in AD 588 where he became an apprentice in the local mint. So successful was he that he was appointed to another mint in Marseilles, proving to have a great talent for engraving and metalwork.

However, he wished to become a priest and soon had accumulated sufficient wealth to found a monastery at Solignac and a convent for women in Paris.

In AD 641 he was appointed Bishop of Noyon and Tournai where he became known for his vigour and enterprise, especially in founding yet more religious houses and working for the benefit of the poor. He was considered the most outstanding churchman of his time.

It is said some of his works of art, cast in metal, are still in existence but upon his elevation to sainthood, he became the patron of blacksmiths, farriers and all kinds of metalworkers.

The church at Great Smeaton dates to before the Reformation with some pillars and stonework being from the 14th century, and its fine font dating from the Norman era.

The decorations on the font were not completed by the craftsman and remain unfinished, while the church also contains some alterations from the 19th century. But we must wonder why this church in North Yorkshire is dedicated to a saint from afar.

AND finally, my recent notes about cricket (D & S Times, July 25) have prompted some other tales of the game. I thought I should share these with you.

A match near Helmsley was being played in strong winds and as the fast bowler delivered his first ball, it touched the wicket and the bails fell off. The umpire gave him out but the batsman retorted: “Nay, Ah’s nut oot, t’wind blew t’bails off.”

The umpire said, “Then mind it dissn’t blow thi cap off on t’way back to t’pavilion.”

On another occasion, the bowler appealed to the umpire for LBW, but the elderly official said, “Noo, Ah can’t be reet certain, Ah was lighting me pipe.”

Perhaps the most apt is the tale of a match being held in Yorkshire’s Eskdale, deep in the moors. The batsman was widely known for his protests every time he was given out, always claiming the umpire was wrong.

On this occasion, the bowler was highly skilled and delivered a ball that the batsman just nicked. It flew off the edge of his bat and was neatly caught by a fielder, with the resultant appeal.

“Out”, called the umpire.

“Ah’s nut oot!” retorted the batsman.

“Ah nivver touched it!”

“If thoo dissn’t believe me,” said the umpire, “see what it says in next week’s Darlington and Stockton Times.”