The Slaying of the Chillingham Bull (NU075255)

The wild white cattle which roam the huge expanse of Chillingham Park are perhaps the region’s most treasured natural curiosity. But they are not to be messed with, for they really are genuinely wild. Of ancient descent (no one knows quite how old), they have remained hemmed in and protected, yes, but you wouldn’t want to casually wander across the park amongst them… for there’s a pretty good chance they’d have a go at you.

Though they are undomesticated and quite often aggressive, they are very, very special specimens. Numbering around 100, they are rarer than pandas and genetically identical to one another, such is the depth of their inbreeding. They are the purest of pure-breds, and are therefore very carefully looked after and highly prized by us North-Easterners.

However, despite their importance they have not always been as well protected as they are today. Amazingly, as recently as October 1872, the prize Chillingham Bull was slain in the name of sport by Edward, Prince of Wales.

His Royal Highness was at the time being entertained at Chillingham Castle by The Earl of Tankerville, when it was announced that to mark the occasion he would shoot the ‘noblest specimen of the herd.’ So on the morning of 17^th October 1872 he set out across the nearby park hidden in the hay cart that was carrying the poor animals their breakfast. As the herd congregated for their feed, it wasn’t especially difficult for the royal rifle to pick out the unsuspecting male in question, and the magnificent beast was soon exterminated:

His Royal Highness brought down the king of the herd by a single rifle shot, his bullet entering the neck and severing the spinal cord. It was a fine bull, seven years old, and weighing 70st.
[The Illustrated London News, Nov 16 1872]

It was, as was later reported, “scarcely a feat to warrant any unusual jubilation”, yet the ‘achievement’ was captured for posterity by a photographer when the beast was shoved under the royal foot on the castle lawn later that day. The sketch shown above was copied from the said snap and published in The Monthly Chronicle of North-Country Lore & Legend in March 1889.

The bull’s head was mounted and found its way to the hall at Sandringham in Norfolk. Is it, I wonder, still there?

Teddy’s Nook (NZ666216)

Much of what follows is sketchy. Rumour based on hearsay, with a little bit of tittle-tattle thrown in for good measure. Good fun all-the-same, though.

Teddy’s Nook is the name of a private house which sits on what you might call the ‘main bank’ of Saltburn-by-the-Sea. Its construction dates back to the very earliest days of the town, when, in 1862, Henry Pease MP built and moved into the property – indeed Pease was pretty much responsible for founding the modern-day town as a whole. It was originally intended to build several of these mini-mansions, but only the one was ever completed – and was modestly named ‘The Cottage’.

One might think that a house with a former occupant of Pease’s standing was quite enough history for any private residence – but no. For in its relatively short existence, The Cottage has played host to many a celebrity – some, perhaps, imagined.

First up is the rumour that at one time the house was occupied by two eccentric old ladies who kept a lion for a pet, exercising it on the beach and having it buried in the garden. The famous Lillie Langtry supposedly stayed there, too, in the late 1870s, where she is said to have ‘entertained’ the future Edward VII.  Thereafter, ‘The Cottage’ became known as ‘Teddy’s Nook’…

German spies are the next little anecdote. Apparently, enemy operatives sent out signals to ships at sea from the house during WWII.

Then there was the Kelly family, who were often visited by their cousin, the late Jimmy Savile. Does anyone remember him padding Saltburn’s streets during his morning runs?

As if that wasn’t enough, ‘Teddy’s Nook’ was also once the family home of Audrey Collins MBE, a formidable figure who served as the town’s mayor and chair of the South Tees Health Authority.

And that, I think, is that.

If anyone has any further information, rumours or, er, tittle-tattle, then do get in touch.

Redcar Town Clock (NZ602252)

Question: When does a Coronation Clock become a Memorial Clock?  Answer: When it’s in Redcar!  Let me explain…

During the future Edward VII’s long wait for the British throne, he became something of a regular at the bracing North-East seaside resorts that are Redcar and Coatham.  So much so, in fact, that when he was due to finally succeed his mother as monarch in 1901, the local dignitaries thought it a splendid idea to raise a special Clock Tower in his honour – so they set about collecting donations.

Redcar and Coatham had recently amalgamated into a single authority, so it was thought appropriate to site the new structure on the old boundary between the two.  Anyway, he can’t have been that popular, as the appeal fell largely on deaf ears.  £300 was raised – some of it by selling ‘penny bricks’ – but it wasn’t considered enough to complete the project, so the venture was shelved.

Come 1910 and the death of the said monarch, they had another whip-round and this time the locals dug a little deeper.  The erection was finally built and dedicated as a, erm, Memorial Clock Tower.  Architect: William Duncan.  Builder: John Dobson.  Clock by Robert Richardson.  Unveiled 29^th January 1913.

Better late than never.

The image is from a 1914 postcard.  The clock was restored to working order in 2006.