Pendle Hill

Submitted by Alan Marsden on Sat, 31/12/2016 - 16:11

The chapel is overlooked by one of the world's most famous hills- Pendle. It's a mysterious, enigmatic bulk on the landscape; it's a long, solitary elevation in a relatively flat area.

It's famous for the witches who dwelt in its shadows and environs, whose trial was held at Lancaster in 1612. Consequently, it's a popular place for Halloween enthusiasts although the police have begun closing access to it on that night.

It's also the place where George Fox, a leader of the early Quakers, ascended and heard God's call, recorded in his Journal for 1652:

As we travelled, we came near a very great hill, called Pendle Hill, and I was moved of the Lord to go up to the top of it; which I did with difficulty, it was so very steep and high. When I was come to the top, I saw the sea bordering upon Lancashire. From the top of this hill the Lord let me see in what places he had a great people to be gathered.

From that point on, he stopped being a seeker, and began his preaching ministry.

It's unclear as to how the hill came by its name. It's possible that its huge proportions caused successive peoples to simply name it Hill. In Cumbric, an ancient British language, pen means hill, and hyll, which is Old English. In the thirteenth century, it was call Penhyll hill, hence it is Hill-hill-hill. Alternatively, it may have been named after Pendragon, the mysterious dark age king.

A traditional folk song about the hill goes

....oh Pendle, thou standest alone,
Twixt Burnley and Clitheroe, Whalley and Colne,
Where Hodder and Ribble's fair waters do meet,
With Barley and Downham content at thy feet.
Oh Pendle, oh Pendle, majestic, sublime,
Thy praises will ring till the end of all time,
Thy beauty eternal, thy banner unfurled,
Thou dearest and grandest old hill in the world.

And when witches fly on a cold winter's night,
You must not tell a soul, and you'll bolt the door tight,
You'll sit by the fireside and keep yourself warm,
Until once again you can walk in her arms.

Oh Pendle, Oh Pendle, o'er moorland and fell,
In glorious loveliness ever to dwell,
Through life's fateful journey where e'er we may be,
We'll cease in our labours and oft think of thee.