Eyam, The Plague Village

Someone said to me, “A sad grave-hunting geek like you should visit Eyam,” so I did. I’d heard of it but on trips to Buxton and Matlock I’d driven passed the sign for Eyam, The Plague Village”. Here are some photos of a visit there in February 2015.

I drove up the steep hill to it, snow on both sides. It was a bit cut off, the kind of place you don’t drive through to go somewhere else. Being cut off probably saved the plaque from spreading for it was here in August 1665 the plaque came to destroy.

The plague can’t do you any good but it’s done the village good and it now seems to rely on the tourist trade. I parked near the village stocks and sat in the car having a coffee and a Caramel Choc-Choc. I had the window down while I listened to the end of play on the wireless and hardly any cars passed. All seemed a bit hushed somehow. I suppose it was a cold winter’s Saturday so visitors would be scant.

For some reason (probably because I’m thick) I though the plaque impacted on London and didn't stretch to the North but I’d read about Eyam and knew the plague tried to multiply itself here. The village tailor George Viccars received a parcel of cloth from London. He didn’t know it but the cloth carried fleas that had been eating infected rats. The cloth was damp so he hung it in  front of the fire to dry - a grave mistake as this released the fleas and grave in that he’d be in his grave before another week passed. He was the first victim.

I soon found the row of cottages off the main centre of the village square (where George had lived.) This seemed to be the seat of the infection and most inhabitants and relatives associated with these cottages were decimated quickly. Next to the cottages is the church and I had a walk around graveyard at the back. Many of the victims are here but burials soon stopped. As the disease spread so did panic and villagers turned for guidance from the rector, Reverend William Mompesson. Precautions were put into place to minimise infection: families had to bury their own dead, church services would be performed outdoors in a field, and, most of all they decided to quarantine the entire village by staying there.

The plague ran its course for about 15 months and killed 300 villagers though exact figures are unknown. Some say the population of the village was 350, others that it was 800. This was the Shakespearian era so correct record-keeping wasn’t meticulous. The church records the death of 273 people.

Survival among those affected appeared random; many had close contact with those who died but never caught the disease. The unofficial village gravedigger, Marshall Howe, lived on despite shoving lots of infected corpses into the ground.

Villagers remaining within the compass of the village prevented the disease surging through most of Derbyshire. They were strong-minded Christians and showed courage and self-sacrifice while waiting for the plague to wear itself out. It cannot have been easy to resist the temptation to run away. Though I didn’t go I saw a sign for Cucklett Delf, a grassy field (where outdoor church services were held). Here a village girl called Emmott Sydall met Rowland Torre from another village. They called across the rocks to each other just to stay in touch but she died (as did 6 of 8 family members.)

If you got infected you lived for three to seven days. Symptoms were high fever, headaches, chills, weakness of the bones, swellings. It killed about 100,000 people in the UK and about 15% of the London population. If the package of cloth hadn’t arrived none of this would have happened at Eyam. Who've had thought something as tiny as a flea would bring so many death and misery.

I strolled around the village and it was as though the plague had eliminated everyone: few people, near silence in the graveyard behind the church, the odd passing car, no sound of traffic. I walked down to the village square and saw some blurred faces behind the steamy windows of the café. I wondered the place was like in 1665/6. I bet the streets were empty then. Who would venture out to get a loaf when you got the plague with it free of charge?

Signposts pointed to a miscellany of houses, wells, alleyways and hovels linked to the plague. People buried their dead in their gardens and nearby pockets of land. Did their pets get the plague, too?

I decided to walk about half a mile out of the village to see if I could find The Riley Graves. I knew this was up Riley Road which surrendered to a dirt track winding through tall trees. I knew most of the Hancock family members were buried out in a field within a stone circle.

Patchy snow made objects difficult to see but eventually my eye fell on two horses in a field then a hoop of stones near them. Here lies the six children and husband of Elizabeth Hancock. She probably hoped she’d died too as her family all died within one week. As the villagers thought she was bound to be infected she was forced to burying them all herself. Oddly she didn’t get infected and lived on even though there was nothing to live for. If you're having a bad day - double-barrel leaking nose, bollocking from the boss, wing-mirror knocked off the car by a prat on bike - think of this woman's resolve and stop whimpering.

One year after the first victim George Vicars had died the plague was still rampant. The rector William Mompesson was quite new to the village but he probably wished he never heard of the place. At died at just 28. His wife Catherine loyally stayed with him but also died. Her tomb in the churchyard is decorated with a wreath every year on "Plague Sunday", the last Sunday in August (the Sunday closest to her death.)

Eyam remained cut-off for months but they still needed supplies. Free food and medical supplies were donated by The Earl of Devonshire who lived at nearby Chatsworth House. Some supplies were left at Mompesson's Well high above the village and some at Boundary Stone. While there was still enough sunlight I decided to try to find the latter – it somewhere out in the surround fields.

I climbed over stiles and passed through gates and walked through snow-dappled countryside. A muddy path eventually brought me to field dotted with sheep and the stone itself. Money was left here for payment and, predictably, people have dropped coins in it now. Vinegar was poured into these holes to help kill any germs on the coins.

A sign referred readers to the steep cliff behind, “Lover’s Leap.”. Some lovelorn lady called Hannah Baddeley had been jilted and tried to throw off the top. It wasn’t her day: billowing petticoats acted like a parachute and resistance stopped a direct fall and she survived.

The sheep must have thought I heralded food as they were soon hogging around me. I even got to stroke a few heads before they walked away disappointed. I don't think they like aniseed balls which was all I had.

I returned to the village. The evening sun was infusing the top of the church with a gold-amber shade. This encouraged me back into the graveyard and up a path and I actually saw another grave-hunting nerd (see penultimate photo below). I followed him as he passed from grave to grave with a sheath of papers in hand. I had a chat with him but he was too rushed to talk. He was a member of a very competitive pub team and this month’s topic were things related to plague-drenched Eyam. He had a long list of things to spot and tick. He almost pushed me out of the way to hunt the next clue.

Eventually I returned to the car and had another coffee and a Twix finger dipped in a pack of Quavers. I sat with the window down listening to a Van Morrison CD just enjoying the serenity of the place. The road was so quiet I had a wee in the grid at the side of the road. No owls swooped in hoping to grip on a worm for its tea.

I headed home through white winding Derbyshire dales knowing I would return in a few months when Summer is in profuse bloom.