Countryman's Diary; Dust flies after a good thrashing

It was a memorable occasion. Almost the entire contents of the house were humped outside on a fine spring day, there to be battered and beaten with all manner of implements in a gallant effort to remove the muck and dust which had accumulated, almost without hindrance, during the preceding 12 months.

To understand the need for this bout of energetic cleansing, one has to appreciate there was a time, not all that long ago, which pre-dated the invention of labour-saving devices like vacuum cleaners, spray-on polish, fitted carpets, washing machines, hot water on tap, en suite bathrooms and showers, flushing toilets, electric lights and double-glazed windows. Furthermore, it was a time prior to the near extinction of coal fires, but a time when one (especially when living in the countryside) scraped the mud from one boots before entering a house.

An added factor was that, during the winter months when the nights, and even some of the days, were dark, one rarely looked into the far corners of a room or worried about dust. Dust was allowed to settle, amply aided by smoke from the coal fire and oceans of dirt paddled into the household by the family's activities. Muck and dust were allowed to accumulate because no-one noticed or worried about it.

In much the same way as our wild life begins to think about nesting, either in the form of new nests or the refurbishment of old ones in the lovely spring weather, so the women (and in those days it was the women who engineered those marathon cleaning sessions) arranged for almost the entire contents of the house to be taken outside for the thrashing.

The purpose of this treatment was quite simple - it was to hammer the dust out of the carpets, clip rugs, settees, easy chairs, curtains, mattresses and bedding, even clothing. Very sophisticated people, and perhaps those with a little cash to spare, made use of smart carpet beaters. These were made of cane and looked rather like a flat-headed tennis racket and if you hung a carpet over the washing line and thwacked it with one of these things for what seemed hours on end, it would send clouds of dust into the atmosphere and, hopefully, leave the carpet fairly clean.

Those who could not afford such luxuries made do with broom handles, with or without the broom head, or simply lengths of hazel stick or something similar. I think a lot of that flying dust settled back on to the carpet as it was being beaten, but at least the householder thought she was doing a good job.

One very sound tactic was to employ children for this task. With their energy and capacity for making a game out of the exercise, they could produce a clean carpet within minutes and the trick was then to turn them loose on rugs, settees, easy chairs and any other unthrashed household goods.

However, one had to be sure to harness their energies before the enthusiasm wore off. To see umpteen children wielding sticks in a garden full of household furniture was indeed a sight to treasure.

While this was happening outside, the house interior was given its own thorough cleansing. Sweeping brushes, scrubbing brushes, paint brushes and almost all other kinds of brushes were set to work to clean and polish the empty rooms of the happy home. Ceilings, walls, floors and fixtures like cupboards and wardrobes were all tackled with gusto so that the freshly cleaned furnishings could be returned to a home in pristine condition.

Everything inside was washed or polished - crockery was washed and checked for damage, brass fittings were polished, mirrors made to gleam, chimneys swept and even fire-blackened utensils were given a cursory scrub.

Inevitably, however, there were problems. Whatever came out of the house rarely seemed capable of being returned in its entirety - there was always too much to go back into the clean new house. Surplus clothes, soft furnishings and furniture, books, toys and assorted oddments were left forlorn on the lawn and had to be discarded.

This was a cue for a wonderful bonfire (whose smoke often went back into the house and smothered everything with dust), gifts to jumble sales, donations to young members of the family or a sale of unwanted artefacts.

There are times when I wonder how many wonderful antiques have either been burnt, chopped up or sold after one of those bewildering and frantic bouts of spring cleaning.

On the basis that cleanliness is next to Godliness (an ancient term resurrected by John Wesley in 1791), there is little wonder that the women retired to their clean and fresh new homes with a feeling of great achievement. One can understand why, in the countryside, visitors never entered a house by the front door - you always went to the back and knocked the muck off your footwear before entering - or else!

ONE of Britain greatest figures, whether we regard him as genuine or merely a legendary person, is King Arthur, ably supported by his famous Knights of the Round Table. For centuries, the location of his Camelot has been a mystery and when one travels around Britain, one finds associations with Arthur is a huge variety of places in England, Wales and Scotland.

While many of us might associate King Arthur with Cornwall and the west of England, he does have links with our region - and once more, those links might be genuine or they might be pure legend. Arthur did operate in the Yorkshire dales and it is said that his last fight was either at Catterick or on the slopes of the Eston Hills.

Perhaps the best known story is the wonderful tale of Potter Thompson who stumbled into a cavern below Richmond Castle and found it full of knights all sleeping soundly. One knight slept near a crown embellished with gold. In the light of a lantern hanging from the ceiling, he then saw unlimited treasures, amongst which was a gold encrusted horn and a jewelled sword lying in its scabbard on a huge stone table.

He was unable to comprehend the sheer scale of the wealth before him, wealth which would make him rich for the rest of his life, and although Potter was an honest man he did feel that he should have that sword.

He tiptoed across to it but as be began to draw it from its scabbard, the knights all stirred and started to arouse as the sound of a great wind arose - and Potter fled. As he reached the exit, a voice called: "Potter Thompson, Potter Thompson, if thou hadst either drawn that sword or blown the horn, thou wouldst have been the luckiest man that ever yet was born."

It took Potter a while to recover from the shock, but as he turned and decided to retrace his steps, he could not find that entrance to the cave of riches. And no-one has since been able to find it.

Another supposed resting place of King Arthur and his knights is Freeborough Hill at the side of the Guisborough-Whitby moor road near Moorsholm. Beneath this conical-shaped mini-mountain, Arthur and his knights are said to lie sleeping until their services are required once again to free England from tyranny. They were found by a local farmer called Edward Trotter who was told never to reveal the secret of Freeborough Hill. Although Trotter went back to find the entrance, he failed and the secret of Freeborough Hill remains. Is King Arthur really asleep there?

Stories of King Arthur's time in the northern part of Britain are featured in a new book by Keith Snowden of Pickering. Mr Snowden writes, publishes and prints his own work and his latest is King Arthur in the North. This is available from Mr Snowden at Castleden Publications, 11 Castlegate, Pickering, North Yorkshire YO18 7AX, at a cost of £2.85.

Mr Snowden's conclusion is that there are two versions of Arthur - one the legend whom we all know, and the real King Arthur who was a fearless war chief.

TALES of spring-cleaning remind me of the time a visitor called on a woman busily sweeping her yard.

"By gum, Mrs Blenkinsopp, that's a good brush you've got!"

"Aye, it is," she said. "I've had this brush for 35 years, and all I've had for it is three new heads and two new shafts."