The Murder Stone of Brearley: A Grim Tale of the Cragg Vale Coiners

Tucked away on Route 66 of the national cycle network, a quiet path winds through the small village of Brearley, between Luddendenfoot and Mytholmroyd. Here, a weathered stone stands as a stark and fascinating memorial, a silent witness to a dark chapter in local history. Inscribed with the chilling words, "A Full and True Account of a Barbarous, Bloody and Inhuman Murder," the monument immediately begs a question: what brutal event is it commemorating?

The story behind this stone is a tale of greed, betrayal, and a notorious gang of criminals known as the Cragg Vale Coiners.

The victim was William Deighton, the Supervisor of Taxes and Excise for the Halifax area. A southerner who had moved to Halifax in 1759, Deighton's job involved collecting taxes on cloth and beer. It was in this role that he ran afoul of the powerful Coiners, who were masters of a lucrative and illegal trade: clipping and debasing coinage. Their leader, a formidable figure named "King" David Hartley, saw Deighton as a significant threat to their operation.

By November 1769, several of the Coiners had been arrested, and the remaining gang members decided to eliminate the man who had been a thorn in their side. On the night of November 9th, as William Deighton returned home from a business meeting, he was ambushed. He was shot, trampled, and robbed by two men, Mathew Normington and Robert Thomas, while a third, Thomas Clayton, acted as a lookout. Deighton's life was tragically cut short, and he was buried just two days later at Halifax Parish Church. His grave, a poignant detail in this grim story, lists his name as William Dighton.

The Coiners' plan to escape justice was short-lived. Thomas Clayton, the lookout, later provided crucial evidence that led to the conviction of Normington and Thomas for highway robbery. The two men met a brutal fate. Robert Thomas was executed at Tyburn, York, on August 6, 1774, followed by Matthew Normington on April 15, 1775. Both of their bodies were gruesomely displayed at Beacon Hill in Halifax, with an arm pointing toward the scene of the murder—a grim warning to anyone else considering a life of crime.

I've passed this stone many times, always curious about its meaning. What I've been unable to uncover is who placed the stone here and why. The murder took place in Halifax, and the Coiners were most active in Cragg Vale. Yet, this lonely monument stands in Brearley, its presence a stark, enduring mystery.

These photos, taken with a Samsung Galaxy Tablet in November 2013, show the weathered face of the stone, its inscriptions worn but still legible, a silent guardian of a dark and fascinating piece of local history.

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The following picture was taken with a Nikon d3300 in 2017.

I took the picture below in 2014 with a Polaroid is2132.

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History in the Hills: A Visit to Cragg Vale's St. John in the Wilderness

On a crisp winter's day, January 10th, 2015, I found myself in the heart of Cragg Vale, standing before a church with a story as rich and layered as the surrounding landscape. The Church of St. John in the Wilderness, also known as Cragg Church, is more than just a place of worship; it's a living piece of local history, its stone walls and ancient graveyard holding secrets and stories from centuries past.

The church's history on this site began with a foundation stone laid in March 1813, and an earlier church opening in 1817. However, the impressive stone structure we see today was opened in 1839. Funded by the "Million Pound Act" and costing £2130, this new building was a substantial upgrade, expanding the capacity from 250 to a massive 800 worshippers. The increase was needed, as the vicar held significant power, even having the authority to pull people from the nearby pubs to attend services!

The photos, taken with a Polaroid is2132 bridge camera, beautifully capture the church's solemn presence against the winter sky and bare trees. The graveyard is particularly striking, with its rows of weathered headstones and ornate monuments, including those belonging to the prominent local Hinchcliffe family, who became deeply involved with the church after it gained independence from the Parish of Halifax in 1844.

The church's connections extend beyond the local community. It is said that the Brontë family often visited, possibly due to Branwell Brontë's time as a clerk at the nearby Luddenden Foot Railway Station. The church also has a more recent and unsettling link to a controversial figure: Jimmy Savile, who was made an honorary church warden in 1967. This detail adds another complex layer to the church's long and varied history.

Standing in the shadow of this historic building, you can't help but feel the weight of its past—a place of faith, community, and some truly remarkable stories. It's a must-visit for anyone who wants to see beyond the surface and delve into the fascinating history of the Yorkshire countryside.

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Revisited: A Glimpse into Britain's Hidden War History

I've always been fascinated by the quiet, unassuming places that hold powerful stories from our past. Years ago, I visited the remains of a World War II Operation Starfish site near Sowerby. On August 16, 2022, armed with a much better camera—my Nikon D3300—I decided to return, knowing that while the scenery would be the same, the story it told would feel just as poignant.

And in many ways, nothing had changed. The sprawling moorland landscape remained a beautiful, desolate expanse. The old brick bunker, a silent sentinel on the hill, was exactly as I remembered it. The only real difference was the unfortunate addition of more rubbish and a bit of minor damage to the brickwork, a sad mark left by time and neglect.

This remote spot was once part of a crucial large-scale deception plan known as Operation Starfish. Developed by Colonel John Turner after the devastating bombing of Coventry in November 1940, the plan was a brilliant, if simple, ruse to protect Britain's cities. The idea was to create large-scale decoys that would mimic the glow of bombed-out cities and industrial targets, tricking German bombers into dropping their payloads in harmless, open countryside.

The sites were strategically located about four miles from their intended targets. In the fields surrounding the bunker, metal troughs were hidden, ready to be filled with a volatile mix of creosote, coal, and diesel oil. When enemy bombers were overhead, these troughs would be set alight, creating a convincing imitation of a city on fire. After a short period—usually about 15 minutes—water would be added to the fire, causing a burst of flames and smoke that mimicked a secondary explosion, signaling a direct hit to the bombers flying high above.

The Sowerby site was specifically designed to be a decoy for major industrial centers and railway junctions. Its blazing fires would have been intended to lure bombers away from the cities of Manchester and Leeds, as well as the vital railway goods yards in nearby Greetland, Halifax, Todmorden, Littleborough, and Rochdale.

At the heart of the operation was a two-room bunker, which, remarkably, still stands today. Protected by a blast wall, it would have been a small, claustrophobic space where the brave men operating the decoy would have lived and worked, orchestrating the fiery deception. The images I took, particularly those from inside the bunker, show a space now filled with rubble and rubbish, a stark contrast to the purpose it once served. Yet, even in its neglected state, you can feel the history, the tension, and the ingenuity that once existed within those walls.

These hidden relics of Operation Starfish serve as powerful reminders of the lengths to which a nation will go to defend itself. They are memorials not of grand battles, but of quiet, strategic brilliance, and of the forgotten individuals who played a crucial part in protecting their country.

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The blast door pictured in front of the bunkers main entrance

Inside the bunker on the left hand side of the entrance is this former control
room. Now filling up with rubbish that has been left behind.

Looking north over the bunker. In the foreground can be seen some
brickworks, probably housed washrooms and generators. Their isn't much
evidence of the site ever being linked to mains electric.

The former control room to the right hand side of the entrance.

Looking west away from the bunkers entrance, taken from the roof I
assume the site in front of me would have housed the metal pans
that created the dummy lighting effect.

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