User:Johnbibby/Sandbox/Karl Pearson/Over the Moor/1908Jul6

Quote

MY DEAR FRANCIS GALTON, I have got back to my Yorkshire moors and their fresh air ...

I smelt the good smell of the turves and the bracken and the young heather and saw the first young grouse yesterday. The only grief is to come back after two years and find those one left hale now in the churchyard. When you know nearly the whole country-side, there are sure to be big gaps in the ranks. In London where one does not know even the names of one's neighbours within fifty yards of one's house, one does not get into touch with other folk's sorrows.

I shall be here, if you write at any time, the whole holiday, except perhaps a couple of days to the South of the moors to see a tablet we have put up to my Father in his birthplace. Here we belong to those who have "gone over the moor," and have thus passed out of memory.

As one of my ancestors of 1680 says in his will " Let my son Henry take my black mare and ride across the moor." That meant he was to go and seek his fortune south. My Father remembered as a boy the Quaker relatives from this Dale riding pillion with their wives across the moor, and stopping at his grandfather's house on their way to York Quarterly Meeting. That was his last touch with Danby. Four years ago I saw a farmer riding pillion with his wife over the moor on what is still called the " Quakers' Path." Four miles up on the moor is the solitary hut which used to be a meeting-house, whence Gregory Pearson was taken to York Gaol in- 1684, where he died. My other forebear, George Unthank, came back alone a year afterwards across the moor. You will understand why I like the smell of the moor.

Affectionately, K. P.

(Letter from Danby, North Yorkshire, 6 July 1908)

Full letter [1]

WINSLEY HILL, DANBY, GROSMONT R.S.O., YORKSHIRE. July 6, 1908.

MY DEAR FRANCIS GALTON, I have got back to my Yorkshire moors and their fresh air,if it be cold,-and I hope to do a good three months' work ! Let me have a line to say you were none the worse for the Darwin-Wallace Celebration, and I hope none the worse for this cold bout that has followed it.

I smelt the good smell of the turves and the bracken and the young heather and saw the first young grouse yesterday. The only grief is to come back after two years and find those one left hale now in the churchyard. When you know nearly the whole country-side, there are sure to be big gaps in the ranks. In London where one does not know even the names of one's neighbours within fifty yards of one's house, one does not get into touch with other folk's sorrows. I shall be here, if you write at any time, the whole holiday, except perhaps a couple of days to the South of the moors to see a tablet we have put up to my Father in his birthplace. Here we belong to those who have "gone over the moor," and have thus passed out of memory. As one of my ancestors of 1680 says in his will " Let my son Henry take my black mare and ride across the moor." That meant he was to go and seek his fortune south. My Father remembered as a boy the Quaker relatives from this Dale riding pillion with their wives across the moor, and stopping at his grandfather's house on their way to York Quarterly Meeting. That was his last touch with Danby. Four years ago I saw a farmer riding pillion with his wife over the moor on what is still called the " Quakers' Path." Four miles up on the moor is the solitary hut which used to be a meeting-house, whence Gregory Pearson was taken to York Gaol in- 1684, where he died. My other forebear, George Unthank, came back alone a year afterwards across the moor. You will understand why I like the smell of the moor.

Affectionately, K. P.