The Victorian era opened the floodgates for Lakeland tourism, and a fair few of those visitors made their way up Skiddaw. Most came back down again and went home, but the mountain took one troubled soul to its breast. He lived wild on the fell and became known as the Skiddaw Hermit. A trawl through an archive of 19th century newspapers reveals the poignant story of a gifted man, suffering with mental health issues and seeking solace among the summits and woodlands of Lakeland. It’s a story I won’t attempt to retell. I’ve collated the reports—I’ll simply let them speak for themselves.
The Westmorland Gazette and Kendal Advertiser—9th June 1866
Reproduced from an article that first appeared in the Edinburgh Courant:
“The vagaries of a man who has turned recluse and taken up his abode in a cave on Skiddaw are exciting the attention of tourists in the Cumberland Lake District this season. It appears that about three years ago an eccentric-looking man, of tall and slender build, a pale complexion, and speaking with a Scotch accent, paid a visit to Keswick, where he occupied lodgings for a week. During that period, he made frequent excursions up Skiddaw, always returning with his clothes covered with mud, and his mysterious wanderings excited considerable attention at the time, various stories being set afloat of his search for precious metals or a hidden treasure. In the course of a few days, however, the man left his lodgings and disappeared, and the mystery that had surrounded his frequent expeditions up the mountain was solved. It was found that the eccentric being had been searching for a cave in which he might take up his abode; but not having met with much success, he had made himself a “nest” on the breast of the mountain, and there he had taken up his abode for the last three years. A tourist who had visited the man, thus describes the strange “cave” and the personal appearance and habits of the recluse.
‘A visit to the place showed us a circular hole, situated about 300 yards up the breast of the mountain, and partly on the edge of a cliff; it is about three foot in depth, and four foot in diameter, which, after assiduous labour, he has contrived to line with moss, &c. The roof, or lid, is portable, and made of reeds brought from the edge of the lake, and curiously wrought together in the form of an umbrella, so that when he retires to rest he shuts it down from the inside. He has resided there nearly three years, and has stood alike the scorching rays of summer and the snow and storms of winter, although it has been seen nearly half filled with water. His appearance is ludicrous in the extreme. His hair is thrown over his shoulders and hangs far down his back, and forms the only protection to the head; his clothes seem to have been the height of fashion 20 years ago, and are quite threadbare; he wears no shoes, and goes on his peregrinations in stockinged feet. He gives the name of Smith, and judging by his language, belongs to Scotland, but when questioned on the subject gives an evasive answer. He makes almost daily visits to Keswick, where he purchases tea and sugar, mixing and eating them dry. His only cooking apparatus is a small pan, in which he cooks messes of very questionable ingredients, boiling them by the aid of a lighted tallow. Through the limited accommodation of his habitation he is obliged to lie in a circular position, much resembling a dog in a kennel. He has quite a passion for water-colour drawing, and has proved himself no mean artist. He enjoys very good health, considering his mode of living, but occasionally has a touch of rheumatism.’
The cave on Skiddaw is not, however, his only haunt. He occasionally favours Helvellyn with a visit and at times extends his peregrinations to Saddleback. Occasionally he seems to assume the appearance of a religious fanatic, and wanders about the hills preaching to the sheep; but in some of his descents into the vale his appearance frightened some of the peaceful inhabitants, and the police having had their attention directed to him he recently underwent incarceration in the county gaol for disorderly conduct at Keswick. While in prison he painted a good portrait of the governor, but it had been a great grief to him to have his hair cut. Having finished his term of imprisonment he has now gone back to his old haunts, a cleaner if not a wiser man.”
The Banffshire Journal—7th Dec 1869
“The recluse… does not confine himself to a solitude as strict as that of a medieval hermit. On the contrary, he is often to be met with on the roads or among the fells, carrying under his arm the sketching board and painting materials he uses in his secondary and more common-place vocation of travelling artist. His appearance is striking in the extreme; and anyone encountering him unawares on one of the lonely roads of the district might well be startled at first sight of so singular a being. No matter what the weather be, the Hermit is never provided with more clothing than a canvas shirt, open at the breast, and trousers, or rather knickerbockers, of coarse material. Shoes, stockings, and hat he despises altogether. His features are strongly marked, and his countenance betokens more than ordinary intelligence. A profusion of black, matted hair thickly covers his head and the lower portion of his face.”
Temporarily quitting his Skiddaw quarters, he has at present encamped in a wood a little above the village of Greenodd…
(The correspondent meets the Hermit on the road and engages him in conversation…)
“The morning was bitterly cold, the fells being white with snow, but the Hermit was, as usual, only clothed in the scanty attire I have already described. He was by no means averse to entering into conversation and informed me that from a boy he disliked wearing much clothing, and otherwise conforming to the restraints of civilised society, and that, to quote his own words, ‘he could not live except when free and in the open air’. He stated that when he is in his tent he is always in bed, said bed being either a collection of brackens or whins placed on the bare earth. In this recumbent posture he paints, his tent being so situated so that, from an aperture in front, he obtains an extensive view, and studies the effects of sunrise and sunset. On these occasions he eschews even his canvas shirt and trousers, and is in a state of complete nudity. Discovering him to be a Scotchman by his accent (a fact which I had not known before), I enquired what part of the old country he came from, and received the somewhat evasive answer, ‘Far North’. “Inverness,’ I suggested? “No; Aberdeenshire.’ ‘Turriff?’ ‘Yes, near there.’ By dint of questioning, I then extracted from him the following information.
His name is George Smith. His parents were ‘country people’ living in the neighbourhood of Turriff. He knew Banff well, having lived there for a short time about the year 1848, when he occupied himself in painting, and he revisited the town in 1859 for one day, when the death of a relative brought him to the district. He attended Marischal College for one session, and appears to have conducted himself creditably, but the confined mode of living proving extremely distasteful to him, he abandoned his studies prematurely. He did not inform me when he adopted his present wandering life and singular habits. He occasionally, but rarely, enters towns, where his extraordinary appearance gets him into trouble. He is, however, quite harmless, unless when under the influence of drink, which excites him for the time to frenzy. His natural abilities are evidently of no mean order, and it is to be regretted that he has allowed himself to lapse into his present semi-savage condition.”
Westmorland Gazette – 8th February 1890:
W. J Browne of Troutbeck writes:
“After leaving Skiddaw, the hermit took up his residence near the foot of Windermere Lake. Here, however, he did not remain long; but sometime in 1870, he made his appearance nearer to the head of the lake. The place he selected this time was New Close Wood, a wooded hill, about mid-way between the Low Wood Hotel and the village of Troutbeck; and certainly, on this occasion, his selection of a locality for his residence did much credit to him as judge of romantic and picturesque scenery. The appearance of the hermit whenever he took his “walks abroad” in the Windermere district, differed some what from the account given by the tourist in the Keswick district. His habilments were nothing more or less than simply an old shirt and pair of trousers, the latter either cut short or turned up to the knees. As for shoes and socks, he eschewed them entirely; and how his “poor feet” escaped being cut and lacerated by the many sharp stones of the district was a marvel. His hair, which was black, was not so long as previously described, but was thick, matted, and unkempt. His appearance, especially when seen in the gloaming, was of a weird and uncanny description. It was while he was residing here in the spring of 1871, that the writer of this notice made his personal acquaintance in connection with the taking of the census of that year. To find the hermit “at home” it was necessary to visit him fairly early in the morning. Accordingly, the hermit was found between seven and eight reclining in his tent, or perhaps wigwam would be the more correct term. This was a heap of brushwood, locally called “chats” that protected him from the dampness of the ground; upon this was spread an old blanket in which he rolled himself up at nights, and over all was stretched something that looked like part of an old tent covering to keep off the rain. The wigwam—if it may be so termed—was just sufficiently large to allow him to lie down at full length, and turn over. Upon the schedule being presented to him to fill up, which, in his case, would not be a very lengthy operation, he readily entered into the matter, and promised to have it filled up by the appointed time. Upon looking it over, he observed that the last column specified whether “insane, lunatic, or imbecile” and, looking up with a droll expression on his face, he inquired how that column was to be filled up. At that time, he was considered to be more eccentric than insane; or perhaps like the immortal Don Quixote, he was sane on every subject but one; as his conversation at that period was both rational and intellectual. Upon the schedule being examined, it was found that his name was George Smith, and that he was a native of Scotland; his age was given as forty-six, and the insanity column was left blank. It appears he had come of respectable parentage, as he had received a very liberal education at one of the Scottish universities. He was no mean artist, and was patronised by many of the yeomen, farmers, and inn-keepers of the district, who employed him to paint their portraits. These portraits were executed in oil upon a species of mill-board, demy size, specially prepared for the purpose. Had he given his mind more to the purpose, he might have turned out some very fair specimens. But as it was, he just worked enough to supply his immediate pecuniary wants. He remained in New Close Wood for some time longer, until several benevolent and liberal-minded gentlemen made an effort to reclaim and civilise him. For this purpose he was provided with decent and suitable clothing; and when thus equipped he was not at all like the same man. As Smith, as we must now call him, was gifted with a fair amount of artistic skill, a situation was obtained for him in the photographic studio of Mr. Bowness, of Ambleside. Here, however, he did not long remain. His insanity appeared to increase, and, although his friends might suitably clothe him, they could not clothe him in his right mind. Soon after this he wandered back again to Scotland…”
Banffshire Reporter—18th July 1873:
“At present, he has paid a sort of professional visit to his native parish of Forglen, and he has taken up house in a way that seems most congenial to his fancy…The “house”, which is entirely of his own manufacture, is of the most primitive kind and could be erected with much less trouble than the wigwam of an American Indian. It simply consists of branches of broom built in the form of a rustic arbor…It is situated a few hundred yards up the private road to Forglen Home Farm…It is not at all unlike a large bird’s nest, and in the present weather, it looks to be dry and comfortable enough, although the proprietor does not think it would be impervious to a continued shower of rain…It is in a very romantic situation, the artist’s eye evidently having been charmed with the beauty of the surroundings…Of the man himself, so much has already been said by those better able to speak on such a subject than us, that we would prefer to leave him as he is. In appearance, he is far from repulsive, as many people with an aberration of intellect are…That there is a decided want of “balance” no-one who listens to him five minutes could doubt.”
The Edinburgh Evening News—10th June 1876:
The East Aberdeenshire Observer of yesterday states that George Smith, “The Skiddaw Hermit,” who was an object of much interest some years ago, has escaped from Banff Lunatic Asylum, and is supposed to be making his way back to Skiddaw. He was an artist of great skill, but has always been subject to insanity, and has lately been suffering from religious excitement, believing he was an Apostle, and could work miracles. His friends belong to Banffshire, and had placed him in the asylum.
Westmorland Gazette – 8th February 1890:
“Besides being a very clever portrait painter, he (the hermit) was endowed with phenological skill, and a writer of his life adds that he often heard him, “delineating characters with as much minuteness and truthfulness as if he had known them all their lives… He was converted by Captain S. V. Henslowe, of Seacombe, near Liverpool, who preached the Gospel several times in Bowness Bay. Soon after his conversion he paid more respect to his dress, and instead of appearing in his Skiddaw outfit—a pair of trousers rolled up to his knees, and a wincey shirt—he was attired in a new suit of clothes, and wore, what he had seldom done before, a hat to cover his profuse, dark, bushy hair. With respect to his dislike of sectarianism, he could not endure it in any form. If he was averse to the habits of society in the past time of his life, much more was he averse to the formula and rules of the various churches and chapels. Nothing but the “one thing”—The word of God, without rule, law, or system added—would he have to do with. Once he was persuaded to go into a chapel at Windermere, but he came out with the protestation, “Ye worship he know not what”. In 1873 he left Windermere and went home to his friends in Banffshire, but with the full intention of returning to his friends in Windermere, amid the scenes he loved so well. But it was otherwise ordered, and he was soon placed… first in Banffshire Asylum, then Aberdeen Asylum, and finally into Banffshire Asylum again, where he died on the 18th of September, 1876. Dr. M. Cullock, of that asylum, writing to a friend respecting him, wrote:—That although of weak mind, “I do believe he was a true Christian. He was fond of his Bible to the last”. I think enough has been given to show what spirit he was of, and even amid much weakness of mind, he had a very fine intellect, which even then stood out in beautiful outline through the fading light of his last days on earth. Once to a friend near Bowness, he said, “I am a worshipper of Nature. But, ah! she is a fickle goddess. I never know where I have her. Sometimes I lay down on a mossy bank, and she is so lovely that I drop asleep, while she bathes my face in sunshine, and fans my locks with soft breeze; and lo! when I wake up again, in hour or two, she is frowning on me coldly, and clattering the hailstones against my teeth”.
