LETTERS TO THE EDITOR.
THE JUBILEE BONFIRES. [To THZ EDITOR OF THE "SPECTATOR."] Sin,—You are right in thinking that the effect of the Jubilee bonfires was great to those who, looking across the Bristol
Channel, watched the lights on " the stormy hills of Wales," but I hardly agree with you that their light was dimmed by the unusual brightness of the night. A sunset, stormy but splendid—the heavens had their own illuminations to show that night—ended in the settling of heavy clouds upon the hills to the north of the Channel, but these must have lightened somewhat after nightfall, for at a few minutes before 10 o'clock "many a bright beacon that liberty had lighted," flashed its red light across to us on the Somerset side. From the highest hill between Clevedon and Clifton, a spot where local tradition believes a Druid pile of stones to have stood till this enlightened century carted them off for road-mending —from this high ground about forty bonfires were visible—to say nothing of our nightly neighbours, the lighthouses, and the sudden rockets which sprang into the sky from Bristol and Clifton. To the nortb, as I have said, were the Welsh lights; eastward Penpole Point, and possibly the Cotswolds; to the south, the Mendips, and most beautiful of all, the fires on the nearer and lower ranges of hills, which were visible, not only as points of light, but as real living fires with wreathing smoke. Westward, again, but not visible from the field itself, was the Portishead light and also Brecon Beacon, which must have been a grand pile to judge from the dull red glow which reached us.
But the village bonfire itself, built on the high ground I have mentioned, was of course the finest sight of all. It was well constructed and blazed up with great rapidity, and every one who has witnessed a great bonfire must know how weird and how beautiful are its effects. The group of figures round it seemed strangely small under the strong and partial illumi- nation, and one feels almost as if one had suddenly become part of a magnificent piece of tapestry, for the trees and the sky take on the rich and sombre tones we associate with such work, while the tiny field flowers—hop-clover and such-like usually insignificant weeds—asserted themselves in the level light of the fire with a brilliance and distinctness which no
sunlight ever bestows on them.—I am, Sir, &c., A. F.
[To THZ EDITOR OF THE"SPECTATOR."]
Sin,—In the glory of the Jubilee pageant it would seem as though the bonfires had been almost forgotten; and as you say you have had no adequate account of them, I venture to write of their effect in Westmorland and Cumberland. The clouds hung on all the hills till late on Jubilee Day, but began to rise about 6 o'clock. A small party of us started from here to go up on to Kentmere High Street ; still the olonds hung on the hills, and it was not until 8 o'clock that any of the mountain-tops showed through the mist. Just at sunset a breeze sprang up, and the great banks of mist rolled in splendour out of the valleys, leaving the hills all crisp and clear. It was a wet, sloppy walk up to Nan Bield, and we only reached the top of the pass just in time to see an early bonfire blazing away between Lowther and Shap. We hurried on, and reached the summit of the High Street (2,600 ft. high) just as the signal rockets sprang up. and in a moment there were fires in every direction : Helvelyn, Skiddaw, and Blen-
cobra on the north-west, Mellf.-11, Greystoke, Hewerhill, Warnell, Barrock Fell, Watch Hill, and countless bright points farther north. A long irregular line of fires glowed along Crossfell as far as Kirkby Stephen, where there seemed to be quite a number ; on Winder, Whernside, and lngi .boro', in Yorkshire. In Lancashire there were fires at Cockerham, Rossall, and Blackpool, besides others we could not place. There was a gap in the fires at Morecambe Bay, but Hampafell stood out well, and many more, including the glorious fire on Back Combs, and one which began late on Coniston Old Mama. I have just mentioned the outer ring of the fires we could see, but there were a number of brilliant fires nearer, — Helme, Whinfell, Wansfell, Longhrigg, Staveley, Crosthwaite, and others. It was a very glorious sight, as the darkness deepened, We could see about seventy-five miles north and south to the borders of Scotland and far into Lancashire, and forty- five miles east and west from Blackcombe to Whernside. All the mountains stood out crisp and clear against the pale summer sky, with the gloom of the valleys below, and Windermere dimly reflecting the glow of the fireworks and many-coloured lights along its shores. There was perfect silence on the fell, but all round us, as far as eye could see, and far farther, England was awake and rejoicing for our noble Queen.—I am, Sir, &c., Tolson Hall, Kendal, June 26th. CHARLES J. CROPPER.
[To THE EDITOR OP rug SPECTATOR."] Stn,—Sinking back in the comfortable railway carriage, tired, out with the noise and bustle, excitement and interest, I shut my eyes, and thought over the events of the wonderful, happy, and successful day,—the day so long looked forward to, so• long to be remembered in years to come, as the greatest day of our century. The 5.50 express tearing along, hurried me westwards from the mass of people, the modern-finished soldiers, the splendid police regulations,—all the outward glory of our great Empire, and the outward signs of the progress and refinement which have come to us during the sixty years of our Queen's reign, and which—glory, refine- ment, progress, and cultivation—find their expression in the one quiet, dignified old gentlewoman whom millions blessed that day. From all this modern glory three hours took me to the quiet hills and dewy fields, the sun- set colours and starlit sky, which look at night nearly as they might have done when our forefathers gained, from their fights round the old hills and their rude husbandry in the valleys, the strength and industry which have made us masters of half the world. Driving along the fragrant lanes, meeting no one, seeing no one, the air delicious with the scents of elder, honeysuckle, hay, and wild roses, it seemed impossible that I could be the same person who but a few hours since had watched the passiug of the splendid Procession, and heard the thousand voices cheer and shout, and cheer again. But as we crossed the little ford, and looking back, I saw the water—ruffled by our wheels—reflecting the last brightness of the summer day, the quiet elm-trees dark against the sunset sky, the soft round hills edging the vale, I felt that our England, beautiful and gentle, with a climate and soil that repay— yet demand—toil, was indeed a mother for a conquering race, a mother to work for, die for,—love or live for Then, through the stillness, a village clock far down the valley struck ten, and the bells from hidden towers clanged out. Quick from point to point, all round the hills, the fires blazed up,—the beacon-hills or camps all fortified with earthworks, now smooth and round, once rough and new-made, the scene of many a bloody and hard-won fight, and many a fearful wound and painful death. These beacon-hills, whose fires meant fear and dread, carrying the message of defeat and death, now were crowned with a glorious fire, carrying a message of peace and honour to all the country round, and as the flames shot up, the valleys saw the glory of the Queen, and the ascending smoke carried high to heaven a people's grateful thanks for sixty years of a most goodly woman's life.—I am, Sir, &c., E. F. E. YEATMAN.
Previous page
