Jagger

The old packhorse bridge near Fox House

From the end of the sixteenth century, trade began to develop properly in the north of England but moving goods around was difficult. There were very few cross country tracks and products had to be carried on hardy packhorses. Gradually, certain packhorse trails became well-trodden and on wild moors, following a number of tragedies, in 1709 Parliament instructed the erection of stone guideposts or "stoops". so that travellers could orientate themselves in difficult weather conditions. Several of these evocative stones remain standing. My camera caught two of them yesterday afternoon on Beeley Moor between Chesterfield and Chatsworth.The man in charge of a packhorse train was known as a jagger. A "jag" was the load which one horse could carry. Peak District place names include Jaggerways, Jagger's Lot, Jagger's Gate, Jagger's Clough and several Jagger Lanes.

"Twas a course I trudged time beyond measure. Like a stream. Back n' forth from east t'west. Only the good lord 'imself knows ow many miles. Countless they was. But every journey wor diff'rent from next. No two wor ever same.

Me name is Tom Satterthwaite an I were born in Norton by Shefeld in 1675. Me faither - e wor a jagger too and  e taught me all I knows. I wor jus a lad of eight or nine when I first went wi im. Ower 'ills to Chester. It wor summer an t'heather were all purple. Even the osses sempt appy tho their burdens wor 'eavy. Me favourite wor owd Nelly. She ad a bit of shire in 'er. Well me dad said so any roads. She showed t'others the way like an 'ad a right good temper.

Mostly us jags wor cutlery, woollens and tools for farming. Sometimes coal - bloody 'eavy that. An we'd come back wi salt an sometimes tobacco from ships at Liverpool. The more me faither agreed to carry the more e got but e knew that if e agreed too much the osses'd stumble and e'd never get ower them bloody 'ills.

Above and below, the old guide stoop on
Beeley Moor west of Lamb Pasture

"Shefeld" - an old spelling of "Sheffield"

An they could be buggers tha knows. Them 'ills. In winter sometimes it wor so cowd you almost cried. The osses's d be snorting out all this white breath - like steam - and your foot'd gae thro bastard ice on top o puddles an you'd ne'er get warm agen all day. Yer skin'd be blue. An sometimes you'd ave t'fight wi bastard thieves an allus keep yer eyes oppen. Once I broke a vagrant's nose. Just  by Backwell  it wor. Jumped out from t' rocks. Poor bugger. Ran off like a leathered dog. Blood spouting all ower snow.

They was no tracks - not proper uns any roads. It were easy to get lost up ont moors what wi mists, other tracks leadin' God knows weer and the sun hidin' away like a bashful bairn. It all looked same. No 'ouses or landmarks. A bloke me dad knew died up ont Beeley Moor an two of is osses froze an all. It were thirty year ago. When parliament in London passed law a few year back - 1709 or 10, that's when  the fat duke got a stone mason - Charlie Simmonite from Holymoorside  to make some posts up theer. Even carved these bloody fingers on 'em so travellers would know weer t'go

It wor four days n'nights from Chester but I allus knew I weren't far from oam when I saw one o them posts rising out a moor. It were a damned good idea an nowadays there's a goodly number of 'em. No matter ow many times I goes back an forth across them ills, I am alllus thankful to see a familiar post - like that star in t'night sky that guided them kings - leading us 'oam.

Me own lads Henry an' John. They's jaggers too. Strong as oxes them buggers are an they'll argue toss about jag money. But these days there's allus some turncoat bugger who'll do it fer less even if he dunt know route. Best to stick wi us I say. A've trod that byway so many times it's like walkin' in me sleep till t'mist and t'rain sile down.

Some men stay put. Farming t'land or mekkin shoes or shoeing osses but I'm glad o'me own labour. I wunt change it for world. Tha feels free. That feels alive. Up ont ills wi the stars an the moon for yer ceilin' in balmy Maytime when the world is wekkin up an swallows are back and yer halfway oam an osses are drinkin' by brook. No I wunt change it. A jagger's life is ard but believe me it's a good un."

The old guide post by Beeley Lane