Lordship of South Burton, as it was then called, was held by Earl Puch,
a Saxon noble. Its name was changed, after the Conquest, to Bishop
Burton, from the circumstance that it belonged to the Archbishops of
York, and their having a palace in the village, where Archbishop John
le Romayne died in 1295. At this time South Burton formed a sort of
oasis in a vast wilderness of forest, extending for miles in every
direction, including the now open breezy upland of Beverley Westwood,
then infested by wolves, through which ran trackways to Beverlega,
where stood the recently founded church and monastery of St. John,
northward of which, at the foot of the Wolds, lay another extent of
forest land, called Northwood, perpetuated to this day in the name of
the street--Norwood. Earl Puch's mansion was an erection of timber,
with few of the appliances of modern domestic life, with a large hall,
wherein he dined with his family and guests at the upper end of a long
table, and his retainers and domestics at the lower end. More in the
interior were the Lady Puch's bower and other private and sleeping
apartments of the family; with inferior rooms for the household
servants, the swineherds, cowherds, huntsmen, and other outdoor menials
sleeping in the outhouses, with the animals of which they had charge.
Earl Puch had built a church in the village, a very primitive specimen
of architecture, consisting of nave and chancel, of timber and wattles,
with round-headed doors and windows, and rude zigzag ornamentation. It
had neither tower nor transept, lacked bells, and its pulpit, altar,
and font were fashioned of rough-hewn wood. Yet was it sufficient for
the wants of the age, and served the purpose of worship, the heart
being rightly tuned, as the most gorgeous cathedral of after ages.
St. John had now resigned the Archbishopric of York, and had retired
to his monastery at Beverlega, to spend the remnant of his life in
prayer, devotional exercises, and the seclusion of the cloister. The
Earl, a pious man, was on very friendly terms with the ex-Archbishop,
and invited him to come and consecrate his church, just finished, to
which John readily assented, and, despite his years and infirmities, on
the appointed day took up his walking staff and went on foot through
Westwood to South Burton, meditating by the way on his past life,
on his ancestral home at Harpham-on-the-Wolds, his student's life
under St. Hilda at the Abbey of Streoneshalh, his episcopal career
at Hagulstadt, his experience on the Archiepiscopal Throne of York,
and his retirement to the Abbey of Beverlega, acknowledging, with
grateful thanksgiving, the Providential hand that had sustained him
through his varied course of life. On the arrival of the ex-Prelate
at South Burton, he found the family in great grief in consequence of
the illness of the Lady Puch, who had been stricken down by a severe
attack of fever, which threatened to terminate her life. She was an
exceedingly devout woman, assiduous in her attention to the duties
of religion, charitable to the poor, and a great blessing to the
poor and destitute of the village. A great portion of her time was
spent in the educational training of her two lovely daughters, now
approaching womanhood, and who much resembled her in the piety of their
lives. She had now lain in bed a month, suffering agonies of torment,
and expecting every day would be her last. Her husband wished to
postpone the consecration of the church in consequence of her critical
condition, but she would not listen to it. "Why," said she, "should
the poor people be deprived of the privilege of hearing the service of
God performed in a consecrated edifice because I, a poor insignificant
mortal like themselves, am labouring under this affliction? Let the
consecration take place the same as if I were well and able to take
part in the ceremony; the thought of what is taking place will be more
beneficial to me than all the doctor's medicine that shall be given
me;" and it was determined that the ceremony should be proceeded with
as if there were no impediment in the way.
Brithunus, a disciple of St. John, and the first abbot of his
monastery, had also come over to assist in the ceremony, and to him
we are indebted for a narrative of the miracle which accompanied
it, as well as of many another notable miracle performed by St.
John, which he communicated to Bede, who interwove them into his
Ecclesiastical History. The consecration was duly performed according
to the Anglo-Saxon style, with singing, prayers, the sprinkling of holy
water, and a proclamation from the Archbishop that the edifice was now
rendered sacred, and become a temple of the Living God, concluding with
a benediction. "Then," says Brithunus, "the Earl desired him to dine
at his house, but the Bishop declined, saying he must return to the
monastery. The Earl pressing him more earnestly, vowed he would give
alms to the poor if the Bishop would break his fast that day in his
house. I joined my entreaties to his, promising in like manner to give
alms for the relief of the poor if he would go and dine at the Earl's
house and give his blessing. Having at length, with great difficulty,
prevailed, we went in to dine."
The banquet was served with the profusion and splendour of the time,
consisting chiefly of boar's flesh, venison, fish, and birds, eaten
from platters of wood, with an ample supply of wine, which was
passed round in flagons of silver. In the course of the repast, the
conversation was confined almost exclusively to two topics--the new
church and the hopes that were entertained of its becoming a blessing
to the neighbourhood, and the illness of the Earl's wife, with which
the Bishop sympathised with much kindly feeling.
"Can nothing be done," inquired the Earl, "by means of the church
to alleviate her sufferings, if not to restore her to health? The
physicians are at their wit's end; they know nothing of the nature
of the disease, and the remedies they give seem rather to aggravate
than cure it. Peradventure the blessing of a holy man might have a
beneficial effect."
"The issues of life and death," replied the Bishop, "are in the hands
of God alone. Sometimes it is even impious to attempt to overrule
His ordinations, which, although often inscrutable and productive of
affliction and suffering, are intended for some ultimate good."
At this moment one of the lady's handmaidens entered the
banqueting-room with a message from her mistress to the effect that
her pains had materially lessened since the consecration had taken
place, and that she desired a draught of the holy water that had been
used, feeling an inward conviction that it, accompanied by the Bishop's
blessing, would be of great service. "The Bishop then," continues
Brithunus, "sent to the woman that lay sick some of the holy water
which he had blessed for the consecration of the church, by one of
the brothers that went along with me, ordering him to give her some
to drink, and wash the place where her greatest pain was with some of
the same. This being done, the woman immediately got up in health,
and perceiving that she had not only been delivered from her tedious
distemper, but at the same time recovered the strength which she had
lost, she presented the cup to the Bishop and me, and continued serving
us with drink, as she had begun, till dinner was over, following the
example of Peter's mother-in-law, who, having been sick of a fever,
arose at the touch of our Lord, and having at once received health and
strength, ministered to them."
The two young daughters of the Earl, on witnessing the miraculous
restoration to health of their beloved mother, had retired together
to their chamber to offer up their heartfelt thanksgivings to God
for her recovery, and before the Bishop's departure came down to
the banqueting-hall and received his blessing. They were exceedingly
lovely both in form and feature, and when they entered the hall, with
modest downcast eyes, it seemed to those present as if two angelic
beings from the celestial sphere had deigned to visit them. "Come
hither, my children," said their mother, "and thank the good Bishop
for interceding with heaven on my behalf, and who has thus been
instrumental in delivering me from the terrible disease under which
I have been labouring for so long a period." In response, the young
maidens went to the Bishop, and kneeling at his feet, expressed their
gratitude to him for what he had done, and implored his blessing.
Placing his hands on their heads, he said, "My dear daughters in
Christ, attribute not to me, a sinful mortal, that which is due alone
to our Merciful Father in Heaven, who has seen fit first to afflict
your mother with grievous trials for some wise purpose, and then
suddenly to restore her to health, that her soul may be purified so
as to enable her to pass through this lower world, untainted by the
grosser sins, but, like all fallible mortals, to be still open to
lesser temptations, that in the end she may be rendered meet to enter
that higher sphere of existence which is reserved for those who live
holy lives here below. May God bless you, my dear daughters, tread in
the footsteps of your saintly mother, that you also may be made meet
for the same inheritance of light." So saying, the Bishop took up his
staff, and bidding farewell to the Earl and his family, wended his way,
accompanied by Brithunus and the monks, through Westwood to his home at
Beverlega.
From this time the two young ladies continued to grow in stature and
loveliness of person, as well as in fervent piety and the grace of God.
They had sprung up into young womanhood, and many were the suitors
for their hands who came fluttering about South Burton, knowing well
that, as the Earl had no son, nor was likely to have one, they must,
if they survived him, become his co-heiresses. But they refused to
listen to the flatteries and protestations of everlasting love of these
young fellows, not so much because they saw through the hollowness
and feigned nature of their professions of love, but because they had
determined to live lives of celibacy, devoted solely to the service
of God. St. John made repeated visits to South Burton, and nothing
afforded them greater spiritual comfort and holy pleasure than
lengthened converse with him on the things that pertain to everlasting
life. But a couple of years after the consecration of the church he
passed away to his rest and reward, "with his memory overshadowed by
the benedictions of mankind," and was buried in the portico of the
church of Beverlega, which he had founded.
A few years after this the two maidens, with the full consent of their
parents, entered the convent of St. John, at Beverlega, to spend the
remainder of their lives in the holy seclusion of the cloister. The
Earl was an extensive landed proprietor, with possessions in and about
South Burton, and others on the banks of the Hull, near Grovehill, a
landing-place of the Romans, and now a suburb of Beverley, with some
extensive manufacturing works. When his daughters entered the convent
he bestowed upon it the manor of Walkington, lying southward of South
Burton and abutting on Beverley Westwood. At the same time he made a
grant to the people of Beverlega of a tract of swampy land on the banks
of the Hull, to serve as a common pasturage for their cattle. This
tract of land, now called Swinemoor, is still held by the burgesses
of Beverley, forming one of the four valuable pastures, containing, in
the aggregate, nearly 1,200 acres, the property of the freemen of the
borough.
There are reasons for believing that a Christian Church existed on the
shores of the Beaver Lake, in the wood of Deira, the site of the modern
Beverley, in the time of the Ancient British Apostolic Christianity,
which had formerly been the scene of the Druidical religion, which
was destroyed by the pagan Saxons, and re-edified by St. John the
Archbishop. In one of his progresses through his diocese, he came
to this clearing in the wood of Deira, with its sacred beaver-lake,
formerly called Llyn yr Avanc, now Inder-a-wood, and was struck by its
sylvan beauty and its quiet seclusion. He found there a very small
wooden church, thatched with reeds, which he determined to restore and
enlarge, and founded, in connection with it, a religious house for both
sexes--a monastery for men and a nunnery for women. He added to it a
choir, and appointed seven priests to officiate at the altar; built the
monastery, and endowed it with lands for its support. Hither he retired
when enfeebled by age, and here he was buried in the porch of his
church in the year 721.
It was to this nunnery that the Sisters Agnes and Agatha went, and
after a period of probation, were despoiled of their hair, and assumed
the veil of the sisterhood. The religious houses of the Saxons were
not the luxurious abodes that they became in after years. The life
led there was one of ascetic severity, with bare walls, hard pallets,
scanty food of the simplest description, a continuous series of prayers
and religious exercises, accompanied by frequent fastings, penances,
and fleshly mortification, to all which the two sisters submitted with
cheerfulness, as conducive to the spiritual health of their souls.
They were never found sleeping when the summons for divine service was
sounded forth, and they were ever willing to perform the most menial
duties as tending to keep within them a spirit of Christian humility.
Their profound piety and rigorous attention to disciplinary matters
excited the admiration of the Mother Superior, but never would they
lend ear to praises from her lips, lest it should engender spiritual
pride, the aim of their lives being to rank as the lowest servants
of the servants of Christ. And thus the years passed along in one
monotonous but ever-blessed sameness, ever dwelling within the walls
and precincts of the nunnery, save on two occasions, when they went to
South Burton to attend the funerals of their parents.
It was the eve of the Nativity, a bright starlight night, as that over
Bethlehem when the three wise men of the East came thither guided by
the wandering star. The nuns were assembled in their chapel for an
early service, amongst whom were the two sisters apparently absorbed in
divine meditation. The nuns then retired for their evening refection
and silent contemplation in their cells until midnight, when the bell
summoned them again to the chapel for midnight Mass, which was to usher
in the holy day. At this service there was a strange and unwonted
omission; the two sisters were absent. "Where are the Sisters Agnes and
Agatha?" inquired the Abbess; "surely something has befallen them, else
they would not be absent, especially on such an occasion as this. Go
and search diligently for them." Every corner of the building and the
grounds outside were searched, but in vain; not a vestige of them could
be found; and at length, as the hour of midnight was close at hand,
the Mass was proceeded with. The following day, that of the Nativity,
was devoted to the usual festal, religious duties; but a heaviness of
heart pervaded the assembly, as the sisters had not re-appeared, and no
tidings of them could be heard.
Days, weeks, and months passed away, and no clue to their mysterious
disappearance presented itself until the eve of St. John, their patron
saint. The vespers had been sung, with special reference to the coming
day, and the nuns had gone out to breathe the air of the summer
evening, whilst the Abbess, taking the key of the tower, unlocked
the door and went up the stone stairs to the top, a place not much
frequented, where she thought to offer up her prayers beneath the open
dome of heaven, without any intervening walls. She had just placed her
foot on the topmost stair when she was startled at beholding the two
sisters lying locked in each other's arms and with upward turned eyes.
At the first glance she supposed them to be dead, but a moment after
was undeceived by their rising, and saying, "Mother, dear! it will soon
be time for the midnight Mass; but how is this? We lay down an hour
ago, under the sky of a winter night, but now we have awakened under
the setting sun of a summer eve."
"An hour ago! my children," replied the Abbess, "it is now months
since you disappeared on the eve of the Nativity, and months since the
midnight Mass of the birth of our Saviour was sung. Can it be you have
been sleeping here all through the interval?"
"Mother, dear," they replied, after some further questionings and
explanations, "we have not been sleeping, we have been transported
to heaven, and have seen sights inconceivable to the human eye, and
heard music such as has never been listened to in this lower world.
The heaven that we have visited is no mere localised spot, but extends
throughout infinite space. It possesses no land or water; no mountains
and valleys; no rivers, or lakes, or trees, or material objects of any
kind; but has picturesque scenery, impalpable and cloudlike, of the
most ravishing beauty. It is peopled by myriads of angelic beings and
beatified mortals, unsubstantial and etherealised, all of exquisitely
symmetrical figures, and with gloriously radiant features, beaming with
happiness and smiling with serenity. Unlike the popular opinion, it is
not a place of idle lounging and repose, but of intense activity, all
being engaged in employments which afford an intensity of pleasurable
emotions. The Almighty Father and Creator of all this realm of beauty
and of all these glorified creatures it was not possible for us to see
with our mortal eyes, but we were perfectly cognisant of His influence
and presence everywhere throughout the infinitude of space. But oh! the
music! here, on earth, it is termed divine, but our sweetest melodies
are but a jarring discord of sounds compared with that of heaven;
mortal ear cannot form the faintest conception of its sublime grandeur
and unutterable loveliness."
Thus spake they to the astonished Abbess, who at once recognised
the fact of their miraculous transportation to the realms of light
for a temporary sojourn there, that on their return to earth they
might be the means of comforting and encouraging those who by holy
lives of asceticism, self-denial, and prayer, were wending their way
thitherwards; and she conducted them down to their sister nuns, to whom
again they had to narrate the visions that had been vouchsafed to them.
"There is joy in the convent of Beverley,
Now these saintly maidens are found,
And to hear their story right wonderingly
The nuns have gathered around;
The long-lost maidens, to whom was given
To live so long the life of heaven."
The Sisters further stated that the first spirit they met was the
holy St. John, the founder of their convent, whom they immediately
recognised, although he had cast off his earthly integuments, and
appeared in a glorified form, but in semblance as when he performed the
miracle at South Burton.
He welcomed them with affectionate warmth, and told them that their
parents were now enjoying the reward of their virtuous and pious lives,
but that they could not be permitted to see them until they themselves
had finally passed away from earthly life. He further told them that he
kept a watchful eye over his town and monastery in Inder-a-wood, with
affectionate love, which should be seen in after ages, in the promotion
of their prosperity.
The next day the festival of St. John was celebrated in the monastery
and church, with more than usual interest and devotion. Towards the
close of it--
"The maidens have risen, with noiseless tread
They glide o'er the marble floor;
They seek the Abbess with bended head:
'Thy blessing we would implore,
Dear mother! for e'er the coming day
Shall blush into light, we must hence away.'
The Abbess hath lifted her gentle hands,
And the words of peace hath said,
'O vade in pacem;' aghast she stands,
'Have their innocent spirits fled?'
Yes, side by side lie these maidens fair,
Like two wreaths of snow in the moonlight there."
At the same time the church became lighted up with a supernatural
roseate hue, and sounds of celestial music ravished the ears of the
assembly. The Sisters were laid side by side by tender and reverent
hands in a tomb near the altar of the church, and now--
"Fifty summers have come and passed away,
But their loveliness knoweth no decay;
And many a chaplet of flowers is hung,
And many a bead told there;
And many a hymn of praise is sung,
And many a low-breathed prayer;
And many a pilgrim bends the knee
At the shrine of the Sisters of Beverley."
The tomb of the Sisters was destroyed in the great fire of 1188, which
destroyed not only St. John's Church and monastery, but the whole
town besides. They were afterwards rebuilt--the Minster in the superb
style which it now presents--and it was in remembrance of these sainted
Sisters that the uninscribed tomb was placed in the new church.
This legend has formed the subject of an exquisite poem, which appeared
in the pages of the _Literary Gazette_, and has been attributed to the
pen of Alaric A. Watts, which, however, is open to doubt.
The Dragon of Wantley.
Once on a time--as the old storytellers were wont to commence their
tales of love, chivalry, and romance--there dwelt in the most wild and
rugged part of Wharncliffe Chase, near Rotherham, a fearful dragon,
with iron teeth and claws. How he came there no one knew, or where
he came from; but he proved to be a most pestilent neighbour to the
villagers of Wortley--blighting the crops by the poisonous stench of
his breath, devouring the cattle of the fields, making no scruple of
seizing upon a plump child or a tender young virgin to serve as a
_bonne-bouche_ for his breakfast table, and even crunching up houses
and churches to satisfy his ravenous appetite.
Wortley, is situated in the parish of Penistone, and belongs now, as it
has done for centuries, to the Wortley family. Before the dissolution
of monasteries, the Rectory of Penistone belonged to the Abbey of St.
Stephen, Westminster, and was granted, when the Abbey was dissolved,
to Thomas Howard, third Duke of Norfolk, who out of the proceeds
established in Sheffield a set of almshouses. The impropriation of
the great tithes were let to the Wortley family, who, by measures of
oppression and extortion, contrived to get a great deal more than
they were entitled to, and Nicholas Wortley insisted on taking the
tithes in kind, but was opposed by Francis Bosville, who obtained a
decree (17th Elizabeth) against him; but Sir Francis Wortley, in the
succeeding reign, again attempted to enforce payment in kind, with so
much disregard to the suffering he inflicted upon the poor that they
determined upon finding out some champion who would dare to attack this
redoubtable dragon in his den at Wantley, so as to put an end, once and
for all, to the destruction of their crops, the loss of their cattle,
and the desolation of their ruined homes. Foremost in this movement
was one Lyonel Rowlestone, who married the widow of Francis Bosville;
and the parishioners entered into an agreement to unite in opposition
to the claims of the Wortleys. The parchment on which it is written
is dated 1st James I., and bristles with the names and seals of the
people of Penistone of that time, and is still extant.
In the neighbourhood, on a moor not far from Bradfield, stood a mansion
called More or Moor Hall, and was inhabited by a family who had
resided there from the time of Henry II., but of whom little is known,
excepting the wonderful achievement of one member of the family, "More
of More Hall," who slew the Dragon of Wantley.