This story is told on a board by the pits. By N Chadwick The Legend of Shrieking Pit , Northrepps, Norfolk , U.K Just off the winding main road running along-side the poppied North Norfolk Coast, about two miles inland from Cromer, lies the small village of Northrepps, untouched by time. Find the village shop, the public house, ‘The Foundry Arms’ and proceed up Hungry Hill towards Sidestrand. Halfway up the hill a sandy lane on the right leads to a grey-green willow hung pit so deep that it once swallowed a horse and cart with no trace. This is Shrieking Pit. Tall, graceful and willowy, with long, dark brown hair, soft round face and an evenness of feature and form, Esmerelda was the beauty of the village in 1782. This was her eighteenth year and she blossomed from an attractive, country girl into a young maid with all the grace and dignity of a highborn lady. Daughter of a farm worker who lived along Craft Lane, some say her real father was a guest at the Hall where her mother was a serving girl, but this was not true. Many a young lad dreamed of Esmerelda; many a bold swain advanced his suit; many a hopeful young boy sought for her close acquaintance all seeking to inspire her mysterious smile which begins with the curve in her tender, sensitive lips before it lit two stars in her sparkling brown eyes. But Esmerelda also dreamed, and she dreamed of a shifty, worthless young farmer from Roughton. He was already married, but typical of his sort, he merely desired further affirmation of his self-supposed charm and a complement for his own self-supposed good looks. He encouraged her adoration although he knew full well that he could never honour their relationship nor make her life settled and secure. But, full of quiet, contained longing, she forgot tomorrow, thriving in this elicit affair, and seemingly doomed herself to the fruits of passion. Life in those days held constraints that cannot be imagined nowadays. The young farmer was persuaded to end the affair by the landowner and the rector who threatened to restrict his livelihood if he did not play the faithful husband. Lacking the courage to face Esmerelda he just stayed away, leaving her to weep and sigh in private. Maintaining her cool demeanour she continued her life as a tied house maid in Shrublands, the farmhouse at the end of Craft Lane. But inwardly her love gnawed at her vital life strings and her elemental longings gradually rose to such a pitch that she could not be contained in sanity. She had lately taken to lone night wanderings and her favourite walk was along Craft Lane and thence to Sandy Lane to Hungry Hill and so home again. On these night excursions her tortured mind seemed to find relief in the physical exertions, but solitude distils unrequited passion into such a blinding spirit that even basic instincts are disregarded. One night, one cold night, when a white full moon shone, and the silver world was iridescent in un-natural black and whites, Esmerelda moved along Sandy Lane and moaned in a will-o-the-wisp manner. She passed a large open pit, its waters steely hard in the moonlight, and her wild spirit stood on the bank and gazed upon its surface. Was it a ripple? Was it a shadow? What evil spirit held the night? What did the poor half crazed girl think she saw in the water? Was it the image of her lovers face? Without further thought she jumped into the water to join her lover; and, not until she jumped into the waiting water did reason come flooding back. As she felt its chilly embrace, she screamed a wild shriek that echoed in the hills and wakened dogs and people secure in their cottage beds. The second wail brought heads to windows while some shivered in fearful sheets. They knew that something awful had happened and, as the third scream shivered into a shriek which ended sharply, the legend of Shrieking Pits was born. Some say on February 24th at midnight something can be heard and seen near the pit; I would not know for nothing would induce me to find out. Even on the sunniest of day, the place is cool. Photos and words by N Chadwick ~geograph.org.uk/photo/ North Norfolk abounds with folklore and superstitions. Aylmerton shriek- ing pits are so-called because of a legend that the ghostly figure of a woman in white has been seen weeping and wailing among them. It is not clear where these pits were located. One report refers to a number of hollows around Roman Camp which could have been prehistoric dwellings. Alternatively, they may have been south of the village, and been old marl-pits. Of a reported 2000, most have disappeared through cultivation. The Roman Camp area is thickly wooded and has not been cultivated. South of the village, 5 large pits in open farmland could be all that remain of the shrieking pits. Beware of the sound of the shrieking pits after dark in Aylmerton! bbc.co.uk/history/domesday/
Posted on: Thu, 11 Sep 2014 14:24:30 +0000
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