Huddersfield Chronicle (16/Mar/1895) - A Golcar Sunset

The following is a transcription of a historic newspaper article and may contain occasional errors. If the article was published prior to 1 June 1957, then the text is likely in the Public Domain.

A GOLCAR SUNSET.

(From Our Correspondent "Cid.")

While I have been watching all this ineffable variety in the west I have neglected overhead and the east. It is now a relief to look in those directions. Above, there is a torpedo-like form tapering due east and west, while to north and south there are battalions of angels dying above and around it. These are so evenly distributed that there is scarcely a yard in the whole vault through which the azure looks unshrouded. Yet all are in motion, gladsome motion, some all but stationary, others melting and moving away, while the flashings of the third heaven seem to be merging into invisible space, hut all are taming their smiting faces to the sun and apparently retreating from it while it kisses them to blushes as they play at hide and seek with one another. Along the horizon, due east, the rim of darkness hides the hills from view and makes one wonder how the teeming throngs of Huddersfield and beyond can breathe among such repulsive mist, and I shudder to think that I shall have to sleep, in a few hours, in such dreadful gloom. The cloud-bank is flashed a little, while thousands of forms just above it change so rapidly that the imagination can people the sky with all manner of live or dead objects, animal, vegetable, mineral, and the supernatural, unlimitedly. It is plain that before the sun leaves for the night, and sinks behind the mountain, there will be nearly a cloudless vault. The wind increases, after a lull, but being warmed by the sun its rushings and whirlings are balmy, as well as invigorating. A manly little boy and a womanly little girl gambol past me, and while within ear-shot she remarks that it is nice, and he, after a pause, pronounces it grand. I am glad they so fully and completely describe the scene in those delightful monosyllables. It is indeed both nice and grand. There is now only about a foot of apparent depth between the hill top and the crimson ball of fire. To right and left there is a glorious avenue widely leading to north and south, like the imposing ruins of some grand amphitheatre, the broken tiers of which are white as wool and cool as snow. They are, however, in some places illumined to gorgeousness, as if other suns were bursting from them, and about to peer over them from half-a-dozen peaks. Then as the crimson ladders merge into the deepening and translucent azure, richly tinted, chastely blended, and coyly kissing earth and sky, the picture is surpassingly fine. The breeze now ebbs to a calm, a sleepy calm, a calm of which pleasant dreams are made, and in which aerial castles are fondly built. The red and gold son then kisses a rooky peak, and its motion is now perceptible. The splendour surrounding it is transcendent. When the orb is bisected, semicircles of light arch each other from earth to the highest heaven. The red embraces the orange, the orange entwines the yellow, the yellow blends into the green, the green and the blue soon seem indistinguishable, the blue kisses the indigo, the latter and the violet top them all in fading bliss, while the tints of all known colours ebb and flow entrancingly. The last crescent of the descending sun is being eclipsed, and I involuntarily stand on my toes as if that would keep it longer in sight. There is now no trace of the real, but there is an ocean of the reflected light visible. The crimson endeavours to outshine the rest for a time. As it expires the purple takes its place. When this has ebbed the saffron and the blue strive in rivalry, the dark blue of course gaining the victory. I can now gaze continuously at the west as the blaze of light is gradually suffused with grey. What a majestic marvel light is. If the earth is the Lord’s and the fulness thereof, what of the sun and the limitless, boundless space rendered all but invisible by day, but partly revealed by the gems of night? As the light loses its effulgence, twilight takes its place, and, though you know the sun is some distance below the horizon, on glancing overhead you see by the faintly gilded clouds that it has not entirely left the heavens. There is still light enough to impress upon you that as one glory fades another becomes visible. The east looks on meanwhile with frowning features, the north gazes on the scene with reflected appreciation, while the south has its ladders of clouds, tier above tier, so far and high that the eye fails to detect which is solid and which is vapour, where the earth ends and the clouds begin, where the latter vanish and the darkening blue commences, where the blue ends and outer space at last envelops all. The darkening skirts of night are gradually enshrouding the earth. Thick masses roll up, over, and into each other. The west is grey until miles of night clouds turn it black. The east is asleep, the north enwraps itself in its night’s robes, while the south lingers in the remaining twilight, gradually undressing, loth to close its eyes for the night. At last its head sinks on its breast, but after it has slumbered a moment, it rouses itself as if it had forgotten to return thanks to the Master of all for the day just past, and then in child-like trust and confidence it calmly slumbers in the sure hope of the morrow. After this I feel somewhat chilly, and a tinge of sadness pierces my breast as I try to imagine what a terrible thing it would be if the sun had gone for ever, if the morning hour of dawn would never again proclaim another day. What horror would come over all living creatures? How all eyes would expectantly turn to the east, and, when darkness refused to pass away, what terrible cries would fill the air! How man and beast, and fowl and creeping things, and all vegetation would turn pale while life remained! What hopeless moans would be heard in every direction as the chills came on and the winds began to howl, freezing and solidifying everything, as life disappeared and death reigned in its stead!

As I turn towards home, still sad by these woeful reflections, the full moon seems to spring into view at a bound, and I laugh outright at the thought of “Slawit moon-rakers.” During tea with my old friend this historical incident had been mentioned, when an innocent and happy maiden of 16 summers, and apparently no winters, asked me in all seriousness if it were true. You may imagine what a hopeless and hardened sinner I am when I tell you that I replied it must be, for everybody says it is. Further, it pleases rather than grieves Slawiters themselves. Yet when such heavenly grandeur as I have imperfectively tried to depict is to be recurringly witnessed on their native hills, it is quite possible that the younger and brighter sons of the present and future generations of this district will know more of astronomy than their fathers, and thus escape the possibility of a second charge of trying to replenish their larder with cheese out of a pond on a moonlight night.

Golcar Station is now my object, and though I know the district well I am lost in the hollow, on the knoll, and in the deep guilty again, before I find it. When found and my ticket secured I have four platforms to pick from, and, of course, go down the wrong one. I have time to put myself right, and when the train arrives I join two jolly youths, full of happy life. When I have joined in their laughter and anticipate more fun a bevy of young ladies enter and all but smother us with their flowing robes, strike us dumb, and keep us so with their bewitching glances. My youthful companions wink and smile, but hide the cause of their merriment. This is tantalising to the maidens, who thoroughly examine their outward appearance to see if everything is as it was when they hurried from their looking-glasses. Silence prevails for a moment and the language of the eye only prevails. I have a happy study of forms and features. I see hopes deferred and prospects brightened. One male and female have evidently sealed the vital question, and if not fully consummated, true love has with them surely passed its last but one obstacle. Two of the others discover the necessity of taking off their left gloves, and the youths make to each other imaginary circles around their fourth fingers, and those who see their significant winks know, without an interpreter, why the left hands have been ungloved when the right hands would have done as well, and perhaps better. Two others would probably have followed suit if they had been able to display engagement rings. They need not despair, their faces will be their fortunes, sir, before long. A plainly dressed girl of 15 years looks on and misses nothing, her features hesitating whether to show admiration or mingled disapproval. She probably thinks they possess too much finery, while she only lacks some of it to make her as pretty, as happy, and as content as the rest. I cannot steal a glance anywhere without being caught in the act. There is laughter in every eye, and suppressed mirth in every feature. When Huddersfield is reached and the youths gain the liberty of the platform they simply explode with laughter, while I cannot help smiling encouragement as they follow the damsels and are lost in the darkness of the subway.