“Proud Salopians!” Well, have we not some good reasons for being proud?
Is it not natural that as Shrewsbury has been the scene of important
events and incidents, we should feel a little inordinate self-esteem?
Hamlet will have it that the poor should not trumpet their own praises;
but we are rich, and therefore we can indulge in some degree of conceit.
Have we not something to be vain about? Have we not found homes and
hiding-places for kings? Have we not had a mint here and made
money—which is a difficult thing for most people to do? Has not “the
finest legislative assembly in the world”—the British Parliament—been
held here? Have we not received Charter upon Charter from the hands of
kings, and “advanced them loans”—without security? Has not an English
monarch actually sat in Shrewsbury, wearing a real crown? Have we not
contributed thousands of men to the protection of the crown and dignity?
Did not that “glorious old martyr”—Charles I., who was “murdered” by
Oliver Cromwell—raise an army here, and did he not lay his uneasy head in
a house on the Wyle Cop? Finally, not least though last, did not
Falstaff, that “gross, fat man,” foolish, witty, and blusterous, “fight
one long hour by Shrewsbury clock”? He says he did, if he may be
believed; and is not that something to boast of? Treasuring up these
things, is there not some justification for our being proud?
_Breathes there a man with soul so dead_
_Who never to himself hath said_,
_This is my own my native town_?
_If such there be_, _go mark him well_.
Douglas Jerrold said that there are some men who walk half-an-inch higher
to heaven by what they tread upon. If Jerrold is right Shrewsbury people
should be nearer to heaven than most folk, for, according to general
opinion, we stand with extreme erectness on our self. And well we may.
The town itself stands high, and the character generously attributed to
us is in harmony therewith. It is situated on two hills of gentle
ascent, which gradually rise from the bed of the river Severn. Who has
not heard of Sabrina? The Welsh had the good taste to call it “The queen
of rivers.” Its name is chronicled in history, and its beauty has been
sung by poets. Leland says—
_Built on a hill fair Salop greets the eye_,
_While Severn forms a crescent gliding by_.
Shakespeare alludes to it as “the gentle Severn with the sedgy-bank,”
“the sandy-bottomed Severn.” It is an important river of England. It is
the chief river of Wales. It has its cradle on Plinlimmon Hill on the
verge alike of Montgomeryshire and Cardiganshire, not far from the coast
of Cardigan Bay. It glides on between the everlasting rocks and fairy
valleys, the fields and forests, where the wind, that “grand old harper,
harps on his thunder-harp of pines.” It enters Shropshire at Melverley,
and receives the waters of the Verniew at a ferry with an unpronounceable
Welsh name; forms a crescent near Montford Bridge and Fitz; surrounds the
Isle; then gracefully twines round Shrewsbury on all sides except the
north; streams on through Uffington, skirting Haughmond Hill, and
presenting with the outstretched landscape a beautiful edge to the grand
old rocks; proceeds on its course to Atcham, where it receives the waters
of the Tern: runs on placidly near Cound; noiselessly steals by
Coalbrookdale, which, celebrated for its iron manufactures, presents a
mingled picture of utility and poetry; passes then by Coalport, famous
for its china works; glides through Bridgnorth; washes a narrow slip of
land in the county of Stafford; flows on to Bewdley, Upton, Tewkesbury,
and Gloucester; receives the Stroudwater at Framilode; joins the Hereford
and Gloucester canal opposite Gloucester; and becomes absorbed in the sea
at the Bristol Channel, about twelve miles from Bristol. Formerly the
Severn ran in five channels at the eastern side of Shrewsbury, and spread
into a marshy lake, which extended from the foot of the Wyle Cop to the
site of the Abbey. The river abounds—or did abound—with salmon, trout,
pike, shad, flounders, and carp. The river was free, because there was
no Board of Conservators, and salmon was not a dish exclusively for the
aristocracy. The distance of the Severn from its source to its entrance
into the sea is about 250 miles. In point of celebrity it ranks next to
the Thames; in magnificence it is excelled, in beauty and diversity of
scenery it is equalled by none in our land.
The county encompassed by the Severn is undoubtedly of great antiquity,
and of very aristocratic reputation. The capital of it—Shrewsbury—dates
back to that indefinite and undiscoverable period familiarly called “time
immemorial.” A local historian says that one of the earliest names by
which it has been recognised is Careg Hydwyth, “the rock covered with
shrubs.” The Britons called it Pengwerne, a brow or hill of elders,
because there were numbers growing on the spot. The Welsh gave it one of
those awful names which tax the courage of Englishmen to encounter, but
which signified “an eminence surrounded by water.” The Saxons named it
Scrobbesbyrig, an appellation which may have been derived either from the
fact that the town was encompassed with shrubs, or, not from the natural
aspect of the place, but from the name of some possessor of
“Sciropescire” or district territory, under the denomination of Scrope,
Scropesbyrig. Subsequently the Normans slightly altered the designation
to Sciropesberie, afterwards Schrosberie, and Salopesberie, whence we
have Salop and Shrewsbury.
Who laid the foundations of Shrewsbury, and at what period they were
laid, are questions which have elicited various opinions. Tristram
Shandy maintained in a grave and elaborate argument there was no doubt
whatever that he had been born; and so we suppose with equal certainty
there can be no denial that Shrewsbury was built by some person or
persons unknown. The first thing we hear about it is that it was a city
of refuge for the Britons to whom it offered a retreat when they were
driven by the Saxons from the ancient fortress of Uriconium. For the
Saxons—valorous and patriotic, but fierce, warlike, barbarous, the German
“Scourges of God”—after conquering Kent, carried on their ambitious
struggles with the Britons until the latter all over the little island
were completely defeated, the Silures in Pengwerne, though the most
heroic of the Britons, among the rest. Cynddrwyn about the middle of the
sixth century had possession of Uriconium. His son, Cynddylan, was a
British chieftain and had his royal palace at Shrewsbury; and when the
devastating Saxon, in his career of spoliation, made inroads into this
district for the purpose of expelling the Britons from Uriconium,
Cynddylan led an armed force from Shrewsbury over the Tern by Atcham for
the defence of his father. But the Britons were defeated in the battle
which ensued, and, having lost Cynddylan who was slain in the encounter,
fled to Shrewsbury, which they called Pengwerne. Llywarc Hên, a prince
of the Cambrian Britons, who lived in the 6th century, mentions that name
in his writings; and from him it also appears that several of the
principal towns of the county had their rude beginnings in that early
period. The theme of Llywarc’s metrical composition is our mountains,
our river, and our “dwelling-places.”
The peninsular situation of Pengwerne appeared to the Britons to afford
them a secure retreat from their Saxon foes. The trees and shrubs which
covered the more uncultivated parts of the county spread into forests,
obstructed the course of streams, and thus caused stagnation and the
formation of lakes and marshes. Amid the underwood, the thickets, and
morasses the fugitives hid themselves. But they were soon disturbed.
Pengwerne was not to be their eternal city, their everlasting habitation.
They had founded a county hereafter to be famous in the history of
England, to be the theatre of one great national tragedy and of several
important dramas. Then they were followed with fire and sword by the
Saxons from Uriconium, who spread destruction in their path, pillaged and
devastated, and finally reduced the place to ashes. Llywarc makes the
desolation of Pengwerne the subject of an elegy, and calls upon the
maidens to “quit their dwellings, and behold the habitation of
Cynddyllan,” the royal residence of their chieftain, wrapped in flames.
A few years later we find Pengwerne inhabited by a King of Powis who
elevated it to a position of some importance by selecting it as his
capital. It then ranked as one of the principal of the twenty-eight
cities of Britain—at present it is not easy to say what rank it holds.
For two centuries—that is, to the close of the eighth century—it was torn
asunder by internal feuds and sanguinary contests between native princes.
Every man’s house was not then his castle. The few arts of civil life
were neglected and forgotten. It is probable that the whole of Pengwerne
Powis consisted of nothing more dignified than a few hovels, surrounded
by a ditch or rampart of unhewn logs for the residence of the prince and
the officers of religion, some wattled huts, with a fold or two for sheep
and cattle.
At the end of the eighth century, and during the reign of the Mercian
King Offa, the Shrewsbury portion of Powis was surrendered by treaty to
the Saxons. It was no longer a metropolis, but it retained, even in
Alfred’s time, the distinguished name of Pengwerne. Scrobe, however, was
substituted for Pengwerne in the reign of his successor, Edward the
Elder, who held a mint here, and on one side of the coin was the
inscription, _Edward Rex Angliæ_, and on the reverse, _Aelmer on Scrobe_.
Proceeding later on we come to the Danish invasion when Shrewsbury was an
object of Danish cruelty in those struggles which took place between the
ferocious pirates from Denmark and Scandinavia and the Saxons. At the
time the Danes under Sween landed in the Isle of Wight, King Ethelred was
at Shrewsbury. Here he called a council of his nobles to decide what
measures should be adopted to effectually put a stop to the atrocities
and limit the power of the Danes. A purchase of peace, advised by Edric,
Duke of Mercia, was agreed upon; and England had to bear the infamy of
obtaining the semblance of quiet (for the nation was soon again
disturbed) by the payment of £30,000 sterling.
The character of Duke Edric was stained by a foul and treacherous murder
committed near Shrewsbury. Edric invited Duke Alshelm, a royal prince,
to a banquet, and afterwards induced him to accompany a hunting party.
During the chase Edric led Alshelm, his chief guest, into a wood where a
butcher of the town named Godwin Porthund, who had been employed for the
purpose, lay concealed. This ruffian seized an opportunity to attack
Alshelm, who was killed. It was this dastardly crime which caused the
order recorded in Domesday Book that whenever the sovereign came here
twelve of the citizens should constantly guard his person, and twelve
should invariably attend him with weapons of defence when he went out
hunting.
In the general victories of the Danes Shrewsbury revolted from the Saxon
rule, and rendered allegiance to Canute; but in 1016 Edmund, son of
Ethelred, marched to the town from the North, re-captured it, and
punished his faithless subjects with great cruelty.
At the Norman conquest Shrewsbury was known from its paying “gelt,” that
is, money for 200 hides of land. Of course, it did not escape the
barbarities of William the Conqueror. The Welsh, about 1067 laid siege
to the town, but William, coming hither from York, opposed the besiegers
with the same relentlessness, the same cruelty that characterised the
violent policy he everywhere else pursued.
In the reign of William the Conqueror the Earls of Shrewsbury held their
court at Shrewsbury, which was then the capital of the earldom. William
conferred the earldom, and with it a grant of the town and a considerable
portion of the county, upon Roger de Montgomery, a near relative.
William rewarded his commanders with estates—a very excellent
remuneration for their services. These, given by the king, were held
under the Earl of Shrewsbury; and amongst their fortunate possessors were
ancestors of the families of Waring and Corbett. Both Roger and Robert
Corbett held lordships or manors under Roger de Montgomery—the former to
the number of twenty-four. Military offices appear to have been
extremely profitable things in these days—the honours were something more
valuable than crosses and medals.
The usages of Shrewsbury recorded in Domesday Book peril the basis of the
fancy that their is a divinity about a king. It was ordered, for
instance, that wherever the king slept in Shrewsbury twelve of the “best
citizens” should be deprived of “balmy sleep” to guard him—him whom the
celestial powers have been supposed to hedge. What if the monarch be a
queen? For her safety no provision seems to have been made. It was
further ordered that when the king went out hunting twelve trusty men
should be sent about him to protect him; and that when he left the
city—Shrewsbury being then called a city—the sheriff should send twenty
horses—whether with or without riders is not said—to conduct him a short
distance into Staffordshire. There is a strong element of non-divinity,
too, about some other requirements, such, for example, as these: that the
masters of the mint, of whom there were three, should pay the king 20s.
at the end of every fifteen days while the money coined here continued in
circulation; that the executors of every deceased burgess should pay the
king 20s.; that every burgess who shall experience the misfortune of
having his house burned down should forfeit to the king (who was least
injured) 40s., and to his two nearest neighbours (who were most injured,
or at least jeopardised) 2s. each, and that every woman marrying should
pay fees to the king—a widow 20s., but a spinster (who was libelled by
this valuation) only 10s. From other customs narrated in Domesday Book
we learn that in King Edward’s time there were 250 houses in Shrewsbury,
and an equal number of burgesses, who paid £7 16s. 8d. per annum in
excise, and that the city was rated at 100 hides, of which the church of
St. Alkmund had two, St. Julian half of one, St. Millburg one, St. Chad
three and a half, St. Mary one rood, Duke Edric three hides, and the
Bishop of Chester three hides. Some light, too, is thrown upon the
“treatment of criminals.” Those who “broke the peace, given under the
king’s own hand,” were outlawed; those who disturbed the peace were
ordered to pay a forfeit of 10s.; and those who drew blood in a fight
were fined 40s.
At the beginning of the 12th century, two years after the accession of
Henry I., signs of disloyalty manifested themselves at Shrewsbury. Roger
de Belesme, son of Roger Earl of Shrewsbury, who is described as “a rash
and discontented young man,” was in favour of the pretensions of Duke
Robert to the crown. He carried his views to the length of rebellion,
and, to be prepared for emergencies, fortified his castles in Shropshire,
and built a wall on each side of Shrewsbury Castle. One portion of this
wall stands now on the Dana, another in Water Lane, and another along the
Severn footpath on the Wyle Cop side of the railway bridge. Henry, who
had himself reached the throne by an act of usurpation, declared “the
rash young man” a traitor, and prepared to execute vengeance upon him.
He marched through Bridgnorth, capturing it, to Shrewsbury, with a force
of 60,000 soldiers, to besiege the town. Three days he gave the
governors of the castle to consider whether they should lay down their
arms, and threatened that if the Castle were not delivered to him at the
end of that time, he would attack it and hang every person he seized
therein. The Earl surrendered, implored the mercy of this merciless
king, acknowledged his crime of treason, and was banished to Normandy by
Henry who took possession of the town “to the general joy,” says one, “of
all the people.” Henry granted the town a Charter, and there followed a
succession of 32 Royal Charters to the second year of the reign of James
II. The earliest Charter preserved in the archives of the Corporation is
dated November 11th, 1189, the first year of Richard I.
During the civil wars between Stephen and Matilda, or the Empress Maud,
as she is sometimes called, Baron William Fitz Allen, governor of the
town, and sheriff of the county, who resided in the castle, espoused the
cause of the Empress; but the town, after some resistance, was taken by
assault, the baron’s estates forfeited, and several of the garrison
hanged. Allen himself was compelled to escape and left the castle in
possession of the king, who had conducted the siege in person. Allen
fled to Matilda, and when she was finally necessitated to take refuge in
Normandy he repaired to the court of France, where he remained until the
accession of Henry II., when he returned, and all his estates, with the
government of Shrewsbury, were restored to him.
In the early part of the next reign—that of John—numerous engagements
happened on the Welsh borders between the royal forces and the Welsh; and
Shrewsbury became the scene of several contests between the same
apparently deadly and irreconcilable foes. Now it was captured by the
Welsh; then they were beaten, dispersed, and the town retaken by the
king. Peace was entered into only to be soon violated. Boys were
exchanged as hostages for the due observance of the treaties. These were
broken and the boys hung. Henry III. had his hands full with the
frequent incursions of the Welsh. One year they, and the next the king,
were masters of the town. The king and Llewellyn, Prince of Wales, were
constantly at war. In 1215 Llewellyn held the town and castle with a
large army. In 1220 Henry had succeeded to the possession of it.
Animosities, however, continued to subsist between them; and thus the
disturbances were prolonged, each party being alternately now victor and
now vanquished, for a term of upwards of 80 years, from the reign of
John, about 1200, to the infancy of that of Edward I., about 1282.
During this protracted period of assault and counter assault—a period of
great distress for the inhabitants who suffered from these perpetual
contests, and peculiarly from the depredations of the Welsh—the town
sustained the penalty of no less than seven sieges. The most notable and
the most serious occurred in 1233, when the place was partly burned down,
nearly every house plundered, and numbers of the inhabitants killed by
Llewellyn, assisted by the Earl of Pembroke and other noblemen. Peace
was once more obtained by offers of pardon to the Welsh on condition of
their obedience. The terms were accepted; but in 1241 it again became
necessary for Henry to march against the restless Llewellyn. A
rebellions spirit also appeared about 1256 in the person of Simon de
Montfort, Earl of Leicester, who seized the town without material
opposition. In 1267 disturbances again broke out. Henry appeared at
Shrewsbury at the head of his army to quell the discord. War was on the
eve of being renewed when Llewellyn submitted, and peace once more was
effected. In 1269 Henry’s eldest son was appointed governor of the town
and castle, on the 23rd of September. Still the government of Shrewsbury
oscillated between the Welsh and the sovereign power; and in 1277, Edward
I, there was another open rupture. A novel course was adopted.
Hostilities had been waged fruitlessly. Now the Courts of Exchequer and
King’s Bench were removed to Shrewsbury that “they (the Welsh) might be
awed into submission, and all necessary help be at hand for taming them.”
The condition of the citizens was most distressing. The prey of their
Celtic neighbours, they were also they prey of the wolves which inhabited
the desolate mountains of the Principality, and which in herds ravaged
the surrounding districts. About 1282, however, the Welsh were finally
subdued; and their submission to the English government, which was then
accomplished, has unquestionably been beneficial to themselves.
A Parliament was held here about Michaelmas, 1283, by Edward I., and
adjourned to Acton Burnell. The Lords sat in a castle, but the Commons
in a barn. The deliberations and negotiations were only of slight
moment. They referred to nothing more important than the most effective
way of securing payment of debts—a matter upon which information would be
thankfully received by some in these days—and to the course to be taken
with David, brother of Llewellyn, Prince of Wales. But the Parliament is
memorable from its having been the first national convention in which the
Commons had any share by legal authority. David, who had been pledged to
Edward, and created by him Earl of Denbigh, but afterwards joined his
brother Llewellyn in resisting an invasion of Edward’s army into
Anglesea, was condemned to die the death of a traitor. The head of
Llewellyn was sent to the king at Shrewsbury, by his command it was sent
to London, where it was placed on the Tower with a crown of willows—an
accompaniment of mockery. The person of David was brought in chains to
Shrewsbury. He was tried and convicted of high treason for obeying the
instincts of a patriot. The punishment was carried out with the greatest
ignominy. He was first drawn through the town at the hind of a horse;
then he was hanged; then he was beheaded; then his body was quartered,
and his intestines burned: and as the conclusion of the tragedy, his head
was sent to London, exposed on the Tower beside that of his brother, and
his four quarters to York, Bristol, Northampton, and Winchester. With
the butchery of David’s corpse the conquest of Wales was complete.
Nearly forty years later, namely, in 1322, Edward II. marched through
Shrewsbury from Worcester with his army. The burgesses went out to meet
him clothed in armour, and conducted him with acclamations into the town.
[Picture: Shrewsbury Grammar School]
Another Parliament was held here by Richard II. in the end of 1397 or the
beginning of 1398, in the chapterhouse of the old monastery, where the
Abbey Church now stands. It was called “The Great Parliament,” partly
from the momentous nature of the state affairs transacted, but
principally from the number of earls and other nobles that attended. It
was held here because the king declared that “he bore great love to the
inhabitants of these parts, where he had many friends.” He sat at this
session with the crown upon his head; and through his instrumentality
several exorbitant acts were passed, which, however, were repealed in the
succeeding reign of Henry IV., and which formed a count in the indictment
that resulted in the deposition of this king.