Horse thief, corn spirit or giant - the enduring mystery of Old Bartle

The official start of autumn, however, is almost a month away - it starts at the autumn equinox, which is September 21, the feast day of St Matthew.

There is a quite a lot of lore associated with St Bartholomew's Day. One old Yorkshire saying tells us that "Bartholomew brings the dew", and another suggests that "As is St Bartholomew's Day, so is the rest of autumn." Similarly, the weather which prevailed on St Swithin's Day (July 15) is supposed to end on the feast of St Bartholomew, 40 days after St Swithin's.

Throughout the country, St Bartholomew's Day was celebrated in various ways, often with horse fairs, Bartholomew Fairs or Bartlemy Fairs, as they are widely known. Many of these have now ceased, but the village of West Witton in Wensleydale continues with its very individual form of celebration. This is known as Witton Feast, but in fact it began as a fair which celebrated the feast day of St Bartholomew, who is patron saint of the parish church.

Witton Feast continues to be well-known, but it is worth recording this ancient celebration so that future generations will remember it. During the feast an ancient custom prevails. It is known as Burning Old Bartle, which now occurs on the nearest Saturday and brings to an end the annual event. An effigy of Old Bartle is carried in procession to the outskirts of the village, where it is ceremoniously burnt. As the procession moves around the village, halting at several places, an old rhyme is chanted. It goes: "In Penhill Crags he tore his rags, at Hunter's Thorn he blew his horn, at Capplebeck Stee he brake his knee, at Grisgill Beck he brake his neck, at Wadham's End he couldn't fend, at Grisdale End he met his end." Each time the verse is chanted, a caller shouts: "Shout, lads, shout," and the assembled people respond with "Hip, hip, hooray."

No-one seems completely sure of the identity of Old Bartle. It is hardly likely that an effigy of St Bartholomew would be treated in this way, yet Bartle is one of his old names. One theory is that this Bartle was a horse thief who continues to be punished for his crimes and another suggestion is that the ceremony might stem from pagan times when the last sheaf of corn was supposed to contain the corn spirit. The last sheaf was burnt to destroy that evil spirit.

Yet another possibility is that Bartle is a corruption of Baal, the name of an ancient sun deity. This might have links with Penhill, the mountain which overshadows West Witton.

This mountain is rich with lore, legend and mystery with one story telling of the Giant of Penhill. Bartle may be an image of that ancient figure, who terrorised the people living nearby. Whatever the reason for this annual ceremony, I find it quite wonderful that it continues in the present century.

If the identity of Bartle remains a mystery, there is another which can be found in many mansions and castles throughout Britain, and yet no-one knows precisely where or when it started. Furthermore, no-one knows the true identity of the lady featured in the story.

The tale is known as The Bride in the Oak Chest and it is basically the same tale wherever it is told. Although it is doubtful in which year the story occurred, it tells of a bride celebrating her wedding day with family and friends. They decided to play hide-and-seek in the huge building, the bride being first to go and hide somewhere.

She found an old oak chest in an attic or on a landing and climbed inside, closing the lid upon herself. The lid clicked shut and she could not open it. Despite a massive search, the guests do not find her and eventually the groom thinks she has run away and left him. She dies, locked in the chest, and her remains are only found many years later. By this time, she is a mere skeleton in a wedding gown.

The tale exists in this region, and here we have a name for the bride. She was the lovely daughter of a wealthy family and she was called Frances Lovell. The story of the hide-and-seek game is the same as the famous version, except that the chest in which she concealed herself was in the entrance hall.

The thickness of the timber and the noise from the party prevented her cries for help being heard. No-one thought of looking inside the chest and a huge search was conducted of the entire house, outbuildings and grounds with all the horses being counted and the carriages checked to see if she had either run away or been kidnapped. But Frances was never found alive, the real tale being uncovered many years later.

In our case, we have a name for the house in which it occurred, although it could be one of two locations. Some accounts suggest that Skelton Castle between Loftus and Saltburn was the venue, but others favour an early Skelton Manor which once stood near York.

No-one is sure, but the tale survives all over Britain, even in some old inns and in many houses and castles which are open to the public.

It even occurs at the National Police Staff College at Bramshill House, near Basingstoke in Hampshire. When I attended a course in that splendid and historic mansion many years ago, I was shown a massive chest in the entrance hall, supposedly the very one in which the unfortunate bride died. Even with all those police officers on the premises, the mystery of the bride's real identity has never been solved.

My correspondence this week includes a letter from a reader living near Thirsk. She provides a fascinating account of the dramas surrounding the house martins who nested under her eaves. This year, they returned to their former nest only to find it occupied by house sparrows.

Undaunted, the martins built a new nest, only to have it also taken over by the sparrows. The sparrows improved their new home by lining it with feathers and mud, but it seems their skills did not extend to effecting repairs. The nest fell to the ground and two fledglings died.

My correspondent asks whether this is usual. In my experience, we have had house martins' nests fall from the eaves and I don't think it is at all unusual, particularly in very dry weather when good quality mud may be in short supply. However, speaking personally, I have never known house sparrows take over house martins' nests. One wonders whether a nest used by the sparrows would be acceptable to the martins if they return next year.

The same correspondent has noticed little owls near her home making a tremendous noise in the evening, especially when farm cats are around. It is quite possible they are indeed shouting at the cats, and warning their chicks to be on the alert. The blackbirds in our garden do exactly the same when a cat or even a magpie appears.

Little owls, about the size of a blackbird, are not native to this country, being introduced from the Continent just over a century ago, but they have spread rapidly to all parts. In some areas, they are considered a nuisance and, in the early evening, can often be heard and seen flying low near hedges or perching on gate posts. I believe they produce only one brood of between three and five chicks each year, but I don't know whether they re-use the same nest. However, I think they would deal promptly with any cheeky sparrows who took it over.