On the trail of the fearsome wild boar of Ferryhill

Today, Sir Roger de Fery is commemorated in stained glass and stone in the town which may even bear his name, and now his story is told on a board which has been placed outside Sainsbury’s by the Ferryhill Ambassadors for Community Change who were themselves inspired by a Memories story.

The Ferryhill Community Ambassadors with Glenys Newby, left, and their new information board about the boar outside the Sainsbury's Local in Brancepeth Road

Around the year 1208, when men were men and pigs were big, a “horride brawn” – a fearsome wild boar – made its home at Brandon (“the brawn’s den”) and rampaged through Brancepeth (“the brawn’s path”) to its favourite forest at the top of Ferryhill where it would root and snuffle on its greedy hunt for truffles in a way that scared and outraged the decent local people.

Then, it would find a muddy patch of ground and, as happy as a pig in clarts, would enjoy “the luxurious pleasure of volutation”, rolling around while making execrable noises.

Knights from near and far tried in vain to slay the formidable brute, but it was too quick for them and, with luck on its side, it made many fortuitous escapes – it was streaky bacon.

But Hodge, or Roger, of Fery studied the movements of the porcine purveyor of panic. He knew that it liked to come crashing through the trees on the clifftop at Ferryhill and so there he devised a cunning plan for it.

He dug a deep pit which he lightly covered with boughs and turf. On the far side of it, he placed some of its favourite food.

And there brave, brave Sir Roger stood, armed with his trusty sword, waiting for the appalling creature to reveal itself.

The millennium stained glass window in Ferryhill Town Council features a knight slaying a rather placid-looking boar

“At length, the gallant brute came trotting on his onward path, and seeing the passage barred, rushed headlong…” says the chronicler Robert Surtees in his 1823 history of County Durham.

Angered that a human should stand in its way and defy its awesome power, a red mist descended and the beast charged at Sir Roger.

But, of course, it plummeted into the pit before it reached Sir Roger, and he then calmly ran it through with his sword.

How the people of Ferryhill did celebrate! They had been freed from this malign presence that had terrorised their community, filling the minds of children and young women with paralysing dread, for so long.

Amid great cheering, they filled in the pit and, to mark the historic spot so that future generations would never forget the heroism of Sir Roger de Fery, they placed a stone cross – known as Cleves Cross, because it is on the top of cliffs.

Even to this day, there is the remains of a stone cross at Cleves Cross (above), near the primary school on the edge of Ferryhill. A boar is to be found on the emblem of Ferryhill Town Council and in 2000, the town hall gained a stained glass window showing Sir Roger slaying a very placid-looking boar. There’s also an old stone in the town hall which once told the story of the boar out on the clifftop.

The arms of Ferryhill Town Council, with the boar in the bottom left

And now the story is told on the ambassadors’ information board outside the Sainsbury’s Local in Brancepeth Road. The board features a Memories version of the tale, which the children found online, plus graphics by Chris Orton.

But is there any truth in the story?

The plaque behind the cross at Cleves Cross telling the story

Some will say that the name “Ferryhill” has nothing to do with Roger de Fery. It comes from an Old English word, “firgen”, which means “wooded hill”. They will say that the stone cross has nothing to do with the death of a boar but it is either the elevated spot from which pilgrims got their first glimpse of the St Cuthbert’s shrine at Durham or, more boringly, it is just a medieval boundary stone.

The sceptics also say that the first and only complete version of the story is told by Surtees in 1823 – it seems as if he made it up on a whim.

But those with a little romance in their hearts will say this is a strange story with an echo of the truth at its heart. It is not like those dragon-slaying myths of Sockburn or Lambton which are told to promote religion, but it seems to be a record of a notable man’s hunting exploits.

They will say that there is evidence that Roger de Fery existed. His seal is known to have contained a boar’s head (above), which proves he had a close connection to the beast, and he is said to be buried beneath a headstone in Kirk Merrington churchyard which was inscribed with a spade and a sword – the tools he used to slay the boar.

And, in 1867, when the stackyard at Cleves Cross Farm – now lost beneath modern development beside the school – was being repaired, an ancient and deep pit was discovered which all the eminent experts of the day agreed was the one in which Roger had lured the boar to its death.

So that proves it is true and not just a ferrytale.

ABOUT a mile north of Cleves Cross lies the site of the deserted mining village of East Howle (above), which was once the home of several hundred people, including Jack Scott, who grew up to be a TV weatherman in the 1970s and 1980s.

The village was bisected by the colliery railway line. On the north side were the older houses of Pit Street and Railway Street and on the south side were Grant, Mason and Bell streets plus Dorman Terrace.

“Dorman Terrace was the posh end – they had proper front rooms and gardens,” says Kath McKerrell (nee Scott), who was born in Railway Street in the village.

“My grandmother, Mary Scott, lived at 13, Bell Street on the other side of the line. My mum would watch me down the black path to the railway where the man in the signalbox cabin would say ‘stand there, pet…now you can go across’ and he would see me over the line. My grandmother would be waiting at the bottom of her street for me and I was only two years old!

“When we lived in Railway Street, Jack Scott the weatherman was at grammar school in Spennymoor. He would clear off from school early, walk from Spennymoor along the line and then wait in my mam’s and stay there until it was a good time for him to go home.”

Former TV Weatherman Jack Scott in 1983

Despite bunking off the occasional lesson, Jack rose to become the BBC’s head weatherman who invented the magnetic symbols that he stuck on the forecast map.

“When Jack did the weather on the radio, his mam, Sheila, sat there taking it all in and at the end, she would say ‘good night, Jackie’,” says Kath.

The Scotts were one of the great families of East Howle with the Dunns being the other – Maureen Jones (nee Dunn) grew up there with grandparents and relatives dotted about the terraces. One uncle ran the shop on Dorman Terrace, and another ran the fish shop next to the East Howle Hotel.

Kath, Maureen and Jack the weatherman went to the village primary school. It was in countryside a mile north of the village – perhaps it was placed there so it could also serve the nearby community of Metal Bridge. It is now a private house.

“We would go down to the Jubilee Bridge on the London to Edinburgh line and stand in the smoke when the trains went past – that’s what we did for entertainment when we were children,” says Maureen.

So that’s two main line bridges we know nothing about: the Jubilee and the Metal. If you can tell us anything about them, please email chris.lloyd@nne.co.uk