Radio Broadcasts By J. W. Puttrell
by Raymond Harben
Younger members of the club can be forgiven for thinking that local radio stations are a new phenomenon but in fact local radio stations were broadcasting prior to the Second World War. One such station was situated in Sheffield and listeners, as well as being able to hear tea-time music relayed from the Grand Hotel or Children’s Stories read by Uncle Algy, could listen to talks given by historians and the like on topics of local interest. One of the regular broadcasters was J. W. Puttrell, an early member of this Club. Mr. Puttrell was variously described by the press as the well-known Sheffield cragsman, the well-known Sheffield cave explorer and geologist or the well-known Sheffield mountaineer. His talks ranged from climbing and potholing to ancient customs.
One of his earlier talks given in September, 1926 on the Great Barmote Court at Wirksworth in Derbyshire is somewhat reminiscent of the Club’s Christmas meets especially when it gets round to drinking punch.
Mr. Puttrell said he was honoured by the King’s Barmaster with an invitation to attend the Great Barmote Court at Wirksworth—a town of great antiquity. When the great cities of Sheffield and Manchester were mere hamlets, Wirksworth was the metropolis of the lead-mining industry. Every reader of George Eliot’s “Adam Bede” knew that this upland town was the home of Dinah Morris.
“It came therefore as an agreeable surprise,” he went on, “to receive an invitation from the King’s Barmaster to attend at the Moot Hall at 12 noon as the chief guest of the Great Barmote Court, one of the oldest institutions in Britain. In 1287, for instance, or 330 years before the Cutlers’ Company was founded, the miners desired of Edward I that their former privileges might be confirmed under the Great Seal.
The Barmote Court, of which King George (as Duke of Lancaster) is head, is composed of a Steward, Barmaster, Bailiff and twelve jurymen, who account it an honour to appear at the call of the Barmaster, and are immune from detention or arrest whilst going to and from the Court.
Welcomed at the Moot Hall by Mr. Eagle, the Barmaster, I walked into the ante-room and was immediately recognised by several miners whom I had met underground. There was bread and cheese on a wooden table, a seeming irregularity, but I was told that it was usual for the King to regale the jury on arrival with refreshment, solid and otherwise.
To test the exact measure of two wooden ore-dishes in use locally, about 28 inches long and 4 inches deep, the Miners’ Standard Dish was brought from its box by the wall, a heavy brass dish, placed here, as the inscription says, in 1513, “so as the merchantes and mynours may make the tru mesure at all tymes.” For the test rape seed was run into the standard dish, and the surplus removed with a strickle. The contents were then emptied into the wooden dishes, and as both were found “under measure,” a joiner was called to adjust them. Satisfied with the test, the Barmaster replaced the brass dish in the box and rechained it to the wall.
The jury, a fine set of men, now filed into court and into the jury box, some white-haired, whilst others, young and swarthier, completed a study in both character and colour. Soon the King’s Steward entered, in wig and gown, and took his seat as head of the Court. “Are you ready,” he asked, and immediately the time-honoured call of the bailiff rang through the hall, “Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! All persons who owe suit and service to the Great Barmote Court of our Sovereign Lord the King, held this day, draw near and give your attendance.
Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! You good men who have been summoned at this Court of the King and the body of the mine, answer to your names and save your fines.” The jury were admonished “to do equal justice between the King and miners in all disputes,” and signed the jury list. After other formalities, again the old Norman-English cry was heard, “Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!” followed by the steward’s invitation to dinner at one of the oldest inns, and after enjoying “ye olde English fare,” including plum pudding, the cloth was removed, and the final stage reached. Long “churchwardens,” plates of tobacco and matches were brought in, and the company were asked as to their liquid preferences, but in keeping with ancient usage, the miners’ partiality for punch prevailed. Bowls of piping hot punch were now produced, and filling our glasses (some with a lighter drink), the steward proposed the old toast of “Our Sovereign the King, Duke of Lancaster.” The toast of “The Miners” was given for the first time, followed by a general talk about fluor spar, lead, etc. The rough, honest outspokenness of the Peaklander was pleasing to hear, and my knowledge of the local dialect and its possibilities were greatly increased thereby.”
The Great Barmote Court still meets twice yearly. Members of the public can visit the Moot Hall and inspect the Miners’ Standard Dish by arrangement with the caretaker.
Another of his broadcasts in 1927 described the climbing of the “Matlock Matterhorn”—High Tor.
“When strolling through the beautiful Matlock Dale in my early climbing days,” said Mr. Puttrell, “the grand bastion of the High Tor seemed to challenge me at every glance. The climbing literature of the day contained no record of its precipitous cliif having yielded to the skill of a rock-climber. Cragsmen had attempted to climb it and had failed. As a local paper then remarked: “The High Tor was for long both the hope and the despair of rockclimbers, and everyone began to regard its ascent as well-nigh impossible.”
“I tried several times, the last occasion with a well-known climber, but the goddess of victory would not be wooed and won. It was easy work climbing the first few yards, although holds were scarce and required clearing and testing. Chatting one day with a fellow-member of the English Climbers’ Club of the many attempts on the Tor, it was agreed to join hands with another enthusiast, and again try to win through. It was a raw December day, but favourable for our purpose because of the absence of wind and snow. Skirting along the base of the cliff, several cracks and chimneys were ear-marked for trial later. Arrived at the great rift which splits the rock in twain, the rope was uncoiled, and two of us “roped” in regular Alpine style, the last man standing down for a time to photograph the climb. The route led up the face to the left, on ledges and finger-holds imperceptible from below, and arriving on the chockstone, I pulled in the slack, and called on the next man. Soon he was beside me, and I recommenced the ascent.”
“After the first few feet there were in sight no hand or footholds worth the name, and I returned to my companion. Again I tried to overcome the difficulties, and failed, tried again, and still without success. My friend now braced himself for an attempt, but returned beaten. After a short “council of war,” we called down to our anxiously-waiting friend, hinting the possibility of having to return defeated. “Have another shot,” came the cheery reply, and thus encouraged I resolved upon one more effort. I started upward again, and managed to beat my previous “best” raising my body right on the top of the overhanging rock.”
“The situation was a perilous one, as it was impossible to retreat, with my feet dangling in space! To make matters worse, everything was smeared with mud, and as there were no sound hand-grips, I had to lurch upward an inch at a time on my stomach, until well on the top of the awkward overhang, in the bed of the gully. “No. 3” started, and quickly joined “No. 2” on the narrow bridge, who, in turn moved upward again, over ground with which he was familiar. Even now, with the support of the rope, he found it hard to advance, and without any warning twisted the rope round his arm and pulled over on to the slope above, a procedure fraught with danger, as I was insecurely fixed, but, fortunately, all went well. We now hauled up the whole-plate camera and placed it aside until the arrival of its owner. The gully was cumbered with loose rocks, deceptively masked with mud, and as I climbed over these and up several “pitches” it was impossible not to send miniature rock-avalanches down to my friends, who, in turn, threatened to pay back in kind on the first opportunity.”
“A ledge on the right was now gained, truly a “haven of rest” after the excitement of the last hour. “The camera has gone!” someone cried, and looking down, I saw it disappear over the edge into some trees, 200 feet below. We were naturally sorry at the loss sustained, especially as it contained interesting souvenirs of our climb.”
“Keeping to the right we now tackled our last problem, a curved chimney, which proved easy, thence by way of some grass ledges, the windswept summit of the Tor was eventually reached, where I was astonished to see the keeper of the High Tor Grounds, who advanced to congratulate us on reaching the top safely. He then explained that he had watched us for a couple of hours, first from one side of the rift, then from the other, all the while keeping himself from our view. The keeper finished his “address of welcome” with a sigh of relief at our “providential escape from that dreadful place.”
Five years elapsed before the High Tor Gully was again climbed, this time by Manchester cragsmen. They also were greeted by the keeper on arrival at the summit, but on this occasion the unlucky climbers were met by a demand for the usual admission fee to the High Tor Grounds!
What would have been of greatest interest to the Club was his broadcasts on his descent into Gaping Ghyll. Unfortunately the Sheffield Daily Telegraph of November 22nd, 1927 briefly records it as follows: —
DOWN GAPING GHYLL
Mr. J. W. Puttrell, F.R.G.S., of Sheffield, continued an interesting talk on his experiences down Gaping Ghyll, Yorkshire, from the Sheffield Relay Station last night. “I never saw a more remarkable sight underground.” he said. “The waterfall, the highest in Yorkshire, seemed to spring out of the heavens. It was the scene of a lifetime.”
Regrettably the B.B.C. Sound Archives has no record of the broadcasts, so what was said to the listening public will never be known unless of course any of our older members were tuned into Radio Sheffield, Call Sign 6FL on 306 metres.
FOOTNOTE – James W. Puttrell was a member of the Y.R.C. from 1900 until his death in 1939. He was a pioneer of climbing on gritstone and was also involved in the exploration of caves and potholes in the Peak District. The part he played in the early exploration of the Peak District is recorded in the book High Peak by Eric Byne and Geoffrey Sutton. Puttrell’s climbing was not restricted to the Peak District. His exploits further afield included the first ascents of Keswick Brothers Climb and Crowberry Ridge, both routes climbed with the Abraham Brothers.
Puttrell wrote two articles for the Y.R.C. Journal—”The Eisriesenwelt” and “The Royal Grotto of Postumia” (Adelsberg) in Volume VI.
He also had published in Caves and Caving Nos. 2, 3 and 4 details of the exploration of Speedwell Cavern, Castleton, Derbyshire.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT – The author wishes to thank Sheffield Newspapers Ltd., for their permission to quote from articles in the Sheffield Daily Telegraph.