Monuments to a time when the market was the hub of town life

Since the motor vehicle began to dominate town centres throughout England, several historic market crosses have either been moved to new locations or destroyed on the grounds that they had become obstructions to traffic. That's the price of progress.

In spite of those changes, many remain in the market towns of our region, with Bedale's particularly prominent at the junction of Emgate with the market place. It is a tall, slender column of stone with a cross on the top and it rises from the centre of tiers of stone steps. It is probably some 600 years old. There may be others of similar design throughout the North, although many have suffered the ravages of time and weather to the extent that they are almost unrecognisable as crosses.

The idea of erecting a cross in the market place stems from medieval times, when they were thought to impress upon the traders and their customers that honesty was expected in all their dealings. The crosses were copies of those found in most churchyards and, in some cases, the local priest would say mass at the cross or perhaps conduct prayers at the start of trading. That was his way of bringing the necessary solemnity to the proceedings.

It followed that other people used the market cross as a focal point, arranging meetings there for a variety of reasons. I am sure many romances were kindled there; rent collectors would also position themselves nearby at specified times to collect money from tenants and, in Ripon's case, the election of the mayor took place at the market cross. In other towns, mystery plays were held in front of the cross and, in Chester, civic events took place there.

In the larger markets there may be several crosses, each indicating that particular goods were sold from that point. From this custom there developed the cheese cross, the fish cross, the butter cross, the poultry cross and the pig cross. In Worcester, for example, there was the curiously-named grass cross, which is where labourers gathered as they waited for someone to hire them. I do not know how it acquired such a peculiar name.

The next stage in the development of market crosses occurred due to the unpredictability of the English weather. It made sense to erect some kind of roof around the cross so that stallholders and customers were shielded from rain, snow and wind. By the 15th century, the major cities of Britain boasted extremely elaborate market crosses because each town or city wanted the best or most spectacular. The cross was eventually replaced by a tall tower and the roofs were expanded so that market crosses began to look like town halls or churches. In spite of this, they continued to be known as crosses.

There is a fine example at Beverley, where pillars support a cupola roof and the whole is adorned with stone urns, the royal arms of France and England and the town's arms of a beaver over a lake.

Barnard Castle can offer another superb example in its Butter Market. Started in 1747 by a man called Thomas Breaks, the town's market cross is an octagonal building shaped like a giant lantern. It once contained the gaol as well as a covered market and council chamber, its upper room being added in 1814. It is surrounded by pillars supporting a roof which forms a type of skirt around the structure, the pillars being of different heights due to the slope of the land upon which it stands. It is positioned at the junction of three streets, but I have not heard that it is likely to be removed due to traffic problems!

There have been complaints about it, however. Early critics said it blocked out the light and obstructed free currents of air and, just over a century ago, there was a move to demolish it. Close inspection of the weather vane will reveal two bullet holes which have been there since 1804. They are the result of a shooting contest between a volunteer soldier called Taylor and a gamekeeper for the Earl of Strathmore called Cruddas. After a few drinks in the Turks Head, they challenged one another to a shooting contest, each firing at the vane from a distance of 100 yards. Both hit it and this ended their competitiveness.

With the development of market crosses into substantial buildings, it is just possible they are the forerunners of our modern town halls. Certainly many were expanded to accommodate local councils while continuing to be known as crosses. But, in spite of this, a lot remain in their original form, some in remarkably good condition and others mere weather-worn stumps in an old stone base.

A correspondent from Yorkshire's Eskdale has written about the use of an old dialect word. A relation living at Loftus was suffering from arthritis and it was said he could hardly crammel about. She wonders whether this old North Riding dialect word remains in use.

From my own experience, I would say it is still widely used throughout the county and, years ago, I recall the previous writer of this column, Major J Fairfax-Blakeborough, grumbling to me that age and infirmity was making him "ower crammly.

I've often heard the word used by older people as an explanation for lack of mobility, particularly when they are affected by rheumatism or arthritis.

My dialect dictionary spells it as either crammly or crammelly, and defines the word as meaning stiffly rather than lame. I've heard the word used, for example, by people struggling to get out of a chair or a car, or when trying to stand upright after doing a task which required a bent back. "By, ah's a bit crammly!" From this, the phrase "to crammel" means to walk or move in a rather infirm way, probably through rheumatism or arthritis, and it seems particularly directed at the more senior of our citizens. One might hear, "Awd Jack's gitten hissen crammled alang ti t'doctor's."

It may be of interest that gnarled old oak branches were widely known as crambles or rammles. The North Riding dialect word for an oak is yak, so their twisted old branches were known as yak-crambles or yak-rammles. I wonder, therefore, if there is a link between the appearance of those branches and some poor old person who is crammling along.

There is another lovely old word too - crambazzle. If a man has become old before his time, probably through illness or even due to drink and high living, he was known to be crambazzled.

A walk along a lane near my home was enhanced by the sight of catkins hanging from the hazel hedgerow.

These are the male flowers of the hazel, which appear rather rigid until February. But as the month progresses and the sun becomes a little brighter and warmer, these "lambs' tails" become more flexible.

They are also covered in yellow pollen, which is distributed by the wind to the female flowers. It is too early for bees to do this task, so nature arranges things very neatly by allowing the wind to help reproduce the hazel.

At this time, of course, the hazel is not in leaf, the catkins appearing long before any sign of new foliage, and their presence makes the trees all the more striking at this time of year.

While the catkins are highly visible, the female flowers are not so easily spotted. They are tiny red flowers which emerge from what look like leaf buds on the branches, but it is the task of the catkins to fertilise these bright red growths so that, in the autumn, the tree bears lots of hazel nuts. They will be spread throughout the countryside by creatures which eat them, such as squirrels, pheasants and pigeons.

Alder trees also rely on catkins for reproduction, but the favourite is undoubtedly the goat willow, known as pussy willow. Its fluffy yellow catkins are often used as decorations indoors and are taken into church on Palm Sunday