I've been on the search for stories, from Worcester, England. My brother, recently had a very enjoyable day trip there, and he kindly offered his photographs for my blog; always keen for content, I snatched them up.
Amongst my research, one name kept cropping up: Edward C Corbett. He was born in the mid to late nineteenth century, in Worcester, where he became a solicitor. But the courtroom was no place for a man with itchy feet, and instead, he often spent his time at Shrub Hill station, watching the trains go by. One day, he put up the sign 'back in an hour' in the window of his office, and like many times before, went to watch trains. Only this time he boarded one, to London, where he spent the day at the docklands. That evening, he paid passage aboard a ship destined for Australia; he did not return to England for two years.
I had struck gold. It had long been a standing joke between my brother and I, about the time he went out for milk, and ended up in London. Here was a man, centuries earlier, doing exactly the same thing (only Edward C Corbett took it a few steps further). Like my brother, Corbett had a flair for languages, and after the Great War he travelled the world promoting Lea and Perrins Worcestershire sauce. He finally settled in Diglis Basin, upon an old barge. A prolific storyteller. Who in later life was almost blind. People who knew him recalled the tales he would tell, sat before a roaring fire. One of his many stories happened on Salt Lane, what is now Castle Street.
So let me take you back a long time ago to medieval Worcester, where two women, two old women, two wise women, who could have been sisters lived in a cottage on Salt Lane. Now, those two wise women were folk healers, who treated minor illness with locally sourced ingredients. Antibiotics had not yet been discovered; if you got sick, few could afford to visit a medical practitioner. But superstition was rife, and despite turning to those two wise women for healing help, many looked upon them with mistrust and suspicion.
The money these women made was meagre. Fortunately for them, salt was big business in Worcestershire, where there was a rich source of common rock salt — Sodium Chloride. For thousands of years this precious mineral, essential to life, was too valuable to toss over your shoulder, or take with a pinch, and was heavily taxed. The Great Wall of China, was largely funded by it, and other nations soon jumped on this lucrative band wagon. During the Roman Empire, salt was plundered to aid the war effort; it was even used as currency. In medieval England, salt tax was as much as two shillings a bushel.
What is a bushel? I hear you ask. A bushel is four pecks. Again! I hear you question. What is a peck? One peck is two imperial gallons. So if my maths is correct four pecks is eight imperial gallons, which equals a bushel.
Back to the story. To avoid the town officials who collected the salt tax, heavily laden wagons pulled by horse or oxen, avoided the main routes into Worcester, and instead were smuggled in through Salt Lane, past the cottage where the two wise women lived. But there was one problem, the waggoners faced, taking this route: mud. The surrounding area was marshy, wetlands, and Salt Lane was always damp and muddy, causing the loaded rickety wagons to stick fast.
When this happened, the wise women would open the door of their cottage, and in exchange for sixpence, offer to help. Those two wise women were wrinkled and hunched, with shawls wrapped round their shoulders to keep out the chill from their rheumatic joints. The wagon drivers were strong burly men, and yet, no matter what they tried, the wheels would not move. Now, the wagons always became stuck outside the wise women's cottage; it was long rumoured the women were witches, casting a spell and causing the carts to stick. Sixpence was a lot less to pay than the official salt tax so usually, without complaint, a deal was struck, hands were shook and coins exchanged. Business concluded: one of the wise women would stroke and bless the animal, while the other would do the same to the wagon wheels. Quickly the wagon would be free, trundling on its way, the two wise women sixpence richer.
But on one occasion, when a lightly loaded cart became stuck, the miserly driver was determined to free its wheels from the mud, without paying sixpence to the two wise women. He was particularly superstitious, and believed the women to be witches. When they came to the cottage door, he abruptly refused their offer of help. It soon became clear, his wagon could not be freed. The driver, begrudgingly accepted if he was to continue on his journey, he would have to show the two wise women the colour of his money. Then, just as a deal was about to be struck, the driver spotted a stalk of straw amongst the harness on the back of his horse. Believing this straw was placed there by the women, with a spell cast, he pulled out a knife and cut it in two. The act caused his horse to rear up in fright, wildly kicking its front legs. At the same time, there was a high pitched scream, capable of curdling blood. One of the women was dead, cut clean in half. The waggoners cart now freed, he fled, in a terrible panic. The remaining, wise woman continued to live alone, in the cottage on Salt Lane, and never again, did a wagon become stuck in the mud there.
This would have been the end of the tale. Until years later, the wise woman turned a troop of soldiers, when they rode into Worcester to collect taxes, into stone. According to legend, their statues stood in the centre of Worcester. Many years later, a merchant tried to break the spell, and free the soldiers. It is unclear what he did, but one of the statues turned into a giant horse, which bolted up on his hind legs, clawing at the air with his front hoofs. In a state of terror the merchant ran away, never to return to Worcester. What happened to the remaining statues, nobody seems to know. Thankfully, salt is now an affordable staple. And as for the truth to this tale, if you wish, take it with a pinch.
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