Legend has it that there is a village up in the hills in Northern England with some pretty peculiar traditions….

The village of Staveley is situated just below the valley Kentmere, and up above the valley Kentmere is the Kentmere horseshoe, a horseshoe-shaped collection of mountains that in this county (Cumbria) are known as Wainwrights. Alfred Wainwright was a man who depicted all 214 of these hills now named after him between the years 1955 and 1966 in seven volumes of guidebooks of the Lake District. This part of what Alfred did is pretty well known to everyone in the village, and many walk up these hills to place a rock and add to cairns that mark the place Alfred defined as the top of each. The lesser-known part of this tale is why Alfred made contributing a rock necessary, and what spurred him to go and explore these hills in the first place.

When Alfred was young, he grew up in the village of Staveley. Staveley was a pretty special place back then. Yes, it was green and yes the river Kent ran through, glistening and trickling in summer and gushing with a ferocity the moment the rains of September came. It was an idyllic place to be a child, but there was one aspect that made it even more special than the other villages with equally green pastures and gorgeous rivers. Staveley had a view like no other, because up beyond the valley Kentmere, was the mountain Thromthwaite Crag. Sat on top of this mountain was a sight that many believed to be simply an illusion. Thromthwaite Crag was topped with a giant crystal.

This is no ordinary crystal we are talking about, this crystal was bigger than Alfred’s bus to school had been and it was the pride and joy of all the people around. The locals had a superstition around it that meant none of them wanted to walk up the mountain, meaning only those who worked as crystal polishes ever saw the thing up close. There were three crystal polishers in the village, one of which was Alfred’s father. Alfred’s father hiked up Thromthwaite Crag three times a week with all his polishing gear to ensure it sparkled just as it should over the village and beyond. The pinkish purplish colour emulated so gorgeously that it amplified the beautiful sunrises and sunsets and meant that the people of Staveley were always blessed with good luck. These were the days before manifesting was necessary. The villagers simply looked up the hills on a clear day, said their greatest desires out loud, and within a week it had usually come true.

However, there was something slightly barbaric about the whole thing. So many good vibes and perfect lives rarely come without sacrifice and this situation was no different. See, this crystal was a living being and it needed feeding to stay satisfied. It was a pretty greedy crystal and had a very specific appetite. It knew the villagers had pastures and in those pastures they had cows. So the task of the crystal polishers was, as they walked up to the hill on which the crystal sat, to sacrifice a cow after collecting thirty gallons of milk, cut out the cow's liver, spleen and other vital organs, and carry all of this to the giant demanding stone. They would then need to carefully pour the milk into the top of the crystal and it would shudder with delight. Then came the gorey part. The polishers would need to rub the entire crystal with the cow’s vital organs, giving it its pinkish gleam. The entire process would take at least 12 hours a time a was necessary to do three times a week to keep the crystal happy. But this had been the way of the village for years and everyone was pretty happy with the deal. For most, it was out of sight out of mind, and the polishers did not mind being the martyrs for the benefit of the majority.

Or at least that was the case until one day Alfred’s father was particularly tired after the luckiest birthday of his life drinking lucky liquid from the lucky village liquor maker. Unfortunately, his tiredness meant that he slipped and fell on one of his trips up the mountain. He was on a particularly steep part of the climb and as it was an excessively rainy day, he slipped and spilled the milk. As he frantically tried to gather it back up in the vessel he had had it in, he slipped again and slid far down into the valley. The cow organs went flying all over the place, the milk was gone and Alfred’s father had broken his ankle. He hobbled home, full of shame and terrified of what would happen now that he had missed one of his vital polishing sessions. He got home to his wife, and for the first time in his life, Alfred saw his father cry. He did wonder if it was really worth crying over spilled milk, but he kept this to himself. Little did he know the impact this day would have on his future.

Now, normally this wouldnt have been an issue, as there were at least three polishers in the village. However, as they always had luck on their side and as two of them had wished in their deepest heart of hearts to visit Dublin that weekend to try the sweet nectar known as Guinness from the source, luck appeared for once to not be on their side. No other villager dared walk up the mountain and it was becoming pretty obvious that the crystal was getting mad. They started to call it “The Big Crysis of 1949.” (Hence, the term crysis, now spelled crisis was coined.) Alfred was heard several times muttering, don’t panic in a crysis, but no one listened.

On day one after the slip, spill and slide, the sky started getting darker, and Alfred’s dad was definitely stressed. His ankle was thicker than his neck, but he kept insisting he could walk only to make it to the front door and collapse, destined to return to bed again.

Day two, the crystal began to rumble and small pebbles started to vibrate down the mountain. Alfred’s Dad hoped and prayed that his two fellow polishers would be back from Dublin as soon as possible to help rectify the situation before too much more damage was done, unbeknownst to him the luck of the village had been fully withdrawn at this point so he should have really wished the opposite as his wish simply resulted in delays on all ferries from Dublin to England.

By day three, the whole village was in a panic, the crystal's wrath was being well and truly felt. Everything was going wrong. From stubbing a toe, to getting the flu to losing all money on the local, previously considered magic, slot machines; it simply wasn’t a lucky village anymore.

Alfred’s father, was at this point in bits. He was completely inconsolable and his wife, who had after three days of trying to be a rock as the stove broke and the fire wood was damp and they got a mice infestation, finally gave into the hysteria. Alfred couldn’t stand it. He slipped out of the house quietly, taking his father's polishing tools as he went, and decided to take matters into his own hands. Villagers, so occupied with their own misery, didn’t notice as the boy walked out of Staveley and up towards the horseshoe. It was the first time Alfred walked up here, but he knew the way as he had waved off his father and watched him walk up Thromthwaite Crag three times a week since he could remember.

As he walked, he felt a sense of freedom he had never felt before. The air got thinner and his worries seemed to ebb away. He started to wonder if this crystal was really magic at all. He started to resent the crystal, who was it to control them anyway? To make them sacrifice their cows before they were ready to be slaughtered for meat and make his poor father carry 30 gallons of milk up 784m as well as cow vital organs to then spend 12 hours polishing it with the disgusting gorey mess. Who the hell did it think it was? Perhaps the last three days had made him slightly mental, or perhaps it was the fresh air and the beautiful views that made him unconcerned with the eerie power the crystal seemed to hold over his home, but Alfred decided then and there that he was going to put a stop to this. He threw his father's tools down on the path and started to run up the hill with such determination he didn’t even feel tired. In fact, he felt like he was flying.

As he reached the summit, he turned back to look at the path he had run up and vowed to himself that once the crystal was dealt with, he would never be off these hills. He looked out and saw that in the distance behind his village, there were more hills and more hills behind that. The layers and layers of mountain tops were endless and he felt excited. So much to explore! He had never felt this before, blood pumping around his body, the height of adrenaline. He was completely elated.

He turned around and almost recoiled at the sight he was met with. His elation died as quickly as it came and was replaced with revulsion. The crystal, which from afar looked like a glorious beacon of hope, was absolutely disgusting. A transparent rock with a slightly gelatinous texture covered in dried blood and smelling of a mixture of sour milk and cow corpses. Although it was as big as a bus, it looked vulnerable and as Alfred walked around it, he almost felt sorry for the thing. Then, just as he thought he’d had his fair share of repulsiveness, it gargled.

“Help me” is what he thought he heard coming from the great thing. “I’ll make your dreams come true, just more milk please.” Alfred felt his skin crawl, something about it felt so wrong, so eerie and creepy, but still he stopped for a moment. If he did indeed get the milk, he might save his village and he might be able to gain all the good luck back. Luck, but was it luck or was it simply a set of chains? The village wasn’t free, they were slaves to this…monster. This couldn’t be the magical crystal he always heard stories about, the crystal was supposed to make you feel light and easy and he felt heavy, grey and miserable in its presence. If he saved this wretched thing, he would never be allowed back up in these gorgeous hills again unless it was to become a slave for this thing just as his father had been. He looked at the vista over yonder once more and made his decision.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I can’t help, but I’ll never forget you or why I discovered what it was like to walk up here in the first place. For that, I will always be grateful.” He then took a deep breath and started to push. He heaved and pushed and heaved and pushed again, and because the being had lost its solid structure, it started to move. Gradually, Alfred managed to move it to the edge of the steep slope. He ran at it with all his might and as he stepped back, as if in slow motion, the hideous globular monster, or whatever it was, slid over the edge. It started to roll, faster and faster and faster and faster, and suddenly Alfred started to panic. What had he done? He’d just sent a bus-sized creature haring towards his village.

He screamed, sobbed and anxiously bit his nails as he watched it gain momentum. He picked up a rock about to throw it in agitation, but just as he was about to lob it, it started to glow. The glow made him feel warm and calm and most of all, lucky. He looked down and thought, could this be… well why not I’ll give it a try. He wished with all of his might that the monster thing would explode before it got to Staveley. He closed his eyes in concentration, and after saying it three times, he opened his eyes to see the monstrous being explode and cover the entire village in sour milk. He heard the cries, he heard the screams, but he laughed. He knew no one was harmed in his heart of hearts. He knew because the crystal told him so. So there, on the top of Thromthwaite Crag, he screamed at the top of his lungs “don’t cry over spilled milk!!!!” (Another phrase coined in just three days, kudos to Staveley.)

Alfred looked at the rock in his hand and was now completely sure that this tiny thing was the true crystal. This was the luck giver, this was the powerful thing that the village thought was ruling them for years, but actually, a monster had taken refuge on top of it and had grown and grown in its greed until its negative energy and powers had blocked the power of the crystal the moment it didn’t get what it wanted. Its greed was a barrier, but now the crystal was free to work its pure magic. Alfred made a vow to himself then and there, he would crack this crystal and spread it on all the hills, so there would be a little bit of luck at the top of each of them. He took the first piece of the crystal and buried it under a pile of rocks. From now on, he would tell the villagers that this is a cairn and must be added to but not taken from on every mountain out of respect for the crystal. He would put one on top of every hill he visited, spreading beacons of hope and luck across the county.

When Alfred returned to the village, it was only to kiss his mother, say “chin up” to his father, grab his boots, and start his mission. From then onwards, Alfred walked up all 214 hills he named the Wainwrights and placed a part of the crystal on the top of each of them. To this day, you can still add to the cairns and Alfred Wainwright’s legacy lives on, along with his two catchphrases. “Never panic in a crysis” and “DON’T CRY OVER SPILLED MILK.”

Now you know the myth about the man and the legend that he was. Next time you’re on a wainwright, strengthen that crystal cairn with a rock for me, please.

THE END.