trace of his personality in the parish, and, in fact, the present vicarage-house, a building of the seventeenth century, is still called Cryer House. That he and his people welcomed the Restoration we may feel sure, for on its accomplishment the re-pewing of the church was immediately taken in hand. It was filled with fine carved oak pews with book-rests and wooden candlesticks, and holes in them to receive the sprigs of holly with which it is still decorated by the ringers at Christmas. Mr. Cryer's own pew bears his name in full, and the date 1661. Other initialled pews are dated 1662 and 1663. Wood-carving was a local trade, and these pews must have been carved in the village, for the special pattern favoured by the Castleton people occurs on them. (The last old woodcarver, who died only last year, so Mr, Brooksbank informed me, would not have used a Hope pattern.)
Now it is of course open to anyone to call Mr. Cryer a Vicar of Bray,[1] but it may equally well be maintained that to live peaceably with all parties through such troublous times implies the possession of no little tact and judgment and power of conciliation, and I suggest that to this we owe the institution of the Castleton Garland in its present form. The principles of a Church-and-King man of the seventeenth century were in favour of public sports and holidays, and we know from the evidence of the pews that Mr. Cryer and his parishioners pulled together in Church matters. But, even if his own principles allowed him to countenance a complete revival of the May-games prohibited under the Commonwealth, a prudent man would not give offence to Puritan neighbours or visitors by restoring that "stinckyng ydoll," the Maypole, with the rowdy expeditions to "bring it home," and the dancing of both sexes about it, to which they took such exception So the whole festival is turned into a loyal celebration of
- ↑ One who "whatsoever King might reign would still be Vicar of Bray, Sir!"
