Llwyd, the Welsh Antiquary.—Chester Fair.—Tennis Court and Theatre.—The
Justing Croft.—The Bars.—Steam Mills.—Ragged Schools.—Boughton and St.
Paul’s Church.—The Spital and George Marsh.—Roman Altar.—St. John Street,
and Mechanics’ Institution.—Roman Catholic Convent.—St. John’s Church and
Ruins.—Jacob’s Well, and the Anchorite’s Cell.—The Groves and the Dee.
WHAT a strange old place this CHESTER of ours is! As we retrace our
steps under the NORTHGATE and the WALLS, we seem as if roaming through a
city of the middle ages; so oddly does everything around us arrest our
attention, and “excite our passing wonder.” Those overhanging gables,
with darksome pathways burrowed out beneath them, and whose builders were
subjects of “Good Queen Bess,”—those two rugged Gateways still marking
the course of the old Abbey wall,—the crumbling Abbey itself, more
venerable still, and incomparably “richer and rarer” to look upon; these,
and yon marvellous Rows, which nobody has ever seen, or ever can see,
anywhere but in Chester, afford us ample subjects for contemplation until
we arrive at the EASTGATE.
The first street we come to on leaving the Gate is ST. JOHN STREET; but,
the good old rule of “first come, first serve,” must for once be set
aside, since we intend to reserve the locality for the close of the
present chapter.
Just opposite to St. John Street, is Bank Place; the house at the top of
which was long the residence of Richard Llwyd, the Bard of Snowdon, and
the author of “Beaumaris Bay,” a zealous, amiable, and intelligent Welsh
antiquary. The poet died here in 1835.
Moving away eastward, then, past the end of FRODSHAM STREET, already
noticed on our way from the RAILWAY STATION, we discern, upon our left, a
long passage, leading up to the COMMERCIAL HALL; and, on the right, a
heavy block of buildings, one hundred and sixty feet long by ninety-two
feet wide, rejoicing in the name of the UNION HALL. These Halls were
erected, the former in 1815, and the latter in 1809, by the Lancashire
and Yorkshire merchants, who used formerly to inundate the city with
their wares during the continuance of the two great Chester Fairs, in
October and July. When first built, these “marts of foreign commerce”
were always thronged at the privileged season with both buyers and
sellers; but the world is wiser than it was; and even the Cestrians have
discovered that one of the worst things they can buy is “a pig in a
poke;” and that their own tradesmen sell articles every whit as cheap and
as good as did those itinerant pedlars.
[Picture: Eastgate]
Not far from the Union Hall is the old _Tennis_ or _Ball Court_, where
Penn the Quaker once preached to his admirers, and which was afterwards
occupied as a THEATRE, until the perversion of St. Nicholas’ Chapel (now
the MUSIC HALL) to the like use. Here the productions of “rare Ben
Jonson,” and the “immortal Will,” together with the minor frivolities of
Congreve, Cibber, and Vanbrugh (the latter of whom is claimed as a native
of Chester), were doled forth to the patrons of “the legitimate drama.”
Chester is now destitute of a Theatre; but whether it has suffered
materially by the loss, shall be left, so far at least as we are
concerned, an open question.
A little farther, upon the left hand, lies QUEEN STREET; its higher or
northern portion being anciently known as the _Justing Croft_. Beyond
the mere name, history has bequeathed us no record of this spot; but,
though England’s bard has tritely enough exclaimed—“What’s in a name?”
there is something in _this_ one of more than ordinary significance. It
is clear that at one time this was the mimic field on which the youthful
chivalry of Chester wielded the lance, battle-axe, and sword; that this
was the proud arena where, after their return from the wars of Palestine
and of France, the belted knights of Cheshire tried a friendly lance with
each other, in the presence of their assembled sweethearts and dames; and
here, at “tilt and tourney,” met the would-be champions of their county,
the Calveleys, the Dones, the Egertons, and the Cholmondeleys, and,
mayhap, too, the Grosvenors, the Warburtons, and the Leghs. We could
weave—but we won’t, for our time is getting short—a page or two of
romance about this once favourite haunt. Let us hurry away, then, first
casting a glance at two Chapels in this street—opposition establishments,
but near neighbours withal,—the ROMAN CATHOLIC CHAPEL, lately transformed
into a Cathedral; and the larger and much handsomer meeting-house of the
Calvinists, or INDEPENDENTS.
Once again in Foregate Street, we are soon at the head of LOVE LANE; why
so named is a mystery; at all events, its mission of love is now confined
to the manufacture of _tobacco-pipes_. At its eastern corner is a
handsome house, with spacious area in front, until lately the city
residence of the Barnstons of Crewe Hill, a Cheshire family of high
lineage and repute. In the area before this house, March 19, 1804, the
colours were presented to the _Loyal Cheshire Volunteers_, by the lady of
Colonel Barnston, commanding officer of the corps. The house is now
converted into the AUCTION MART of the Messrs. Churton, the knock of
whose professional hammer vibrates at intervals through its noble rooms.
Onward again past SELLER STREET, and the Octagon Chapel, where the
Reverend John Wesley once preached, we are not long arriving at a steep
road upon our right hand, called _Dee Lane_, running down to the river
side. Near the head of this lane stood an ancient Gateway, stretching
right across the main street, bearing the name of THE BARS. From a
curious plan of the city in the reign of Elizabeth, this Gateway appears
to have had a circular turret on either side; but no trace of these
remained at the time of its demolition in 1770. From the Bars extended,
to the left and right, the outer line of fortifications which encompassed
the city during the period of the SIEGE.
Once clear of the Bars, we have passed into Boughton, having Russell,
Steam-Mill, and Stevens Streets, all upon our left hand. STEAM-MILL
STREET, anciently _Horn Lane_, derives its present name from the large
STEAM CORN-MILLS of Messrs. Frost and Sons, occupying the whole of the
northern portion of the street. This is a mammoth establishment,
employing a large number of hands, and has been long and successfully
carried on by the present proprietors. The premises were destroyed by
fire in 1834. Close to these Mills flows the CANAL, on the opposite side
of which we have a prospect of another hive of industry, the LEAD WORKS
and SHOT TOWER of Messrs. Walker, Parker and Co., already noticed in our
earlier rambles.
Returning to the main street, we soon arrive, through “poverty, hunger,
and dirt,” at _Hoole Lane_, the corner of which is now embellished with a
neat little structure, known as the Chester RAGGED SCHOOLS, for the use
of those tattered little specimens of humanity ever found about the
streets of all populous towns.
The Street widens out at this point, disclosing, upon our left hand,
RICHMOND TERRACE, a row of handsome suburban residences with neat gardens
in front, overlooking the Dee and the Welsh side of Cheshire,
A prospect fair, of river, wood, and vale,
As ever eye could wish for!
The declivity on the right is called _Gallows Hill_, from its being of
old time the place where malefactors paid the sad penalty of their
misdeeds. But what is this white conventicle-looking edifice which
crowns its heights? Surely it is the refuge of some Mormon
congregation—the temple, perchance, of some pagan fanaticism? Nay
verily, good sirs,—assuage your indignation, for this is a Church of your
own communion, a sort of Chapel of Ease to the parish of St. John. The
architect was “abroad” when this building was designed; for one less
becoming the outward character of a Church it is impossible to conceive.
It is dedicated to ST. PAUL, and was opened for divine worship in 1830.
Some twenty or thirty yards farther the road divides in twain—that upon
the left being the great highway to Nantwich and London in the days when
“_flying_ machines” went hence to the metropolis in _a couple of
days_!—the disciples of Watt are now ready to convey us thither in six or
seven hours! The right-hand road would lead us to Whitchurch and
Shrewsbury, if we wanted to go there; but we have not yet done with “rare
old Chester.” This little plot of land on the right is extra-parochial,
forming part of that ancient Hospital for _Lepers_, the ancient
lazar-house of St. Giles. In the ’SPITAL, as it is now by corruption
called, George Marsh was burnt for his firm adherence to the Protestant
faith in the days of Queen Mary; and in the little Cemetery of this
Hospital, near which we are standing, his calcined remains now quietly
rest “in sure and certain hope.”
Beyond this lies the township of GREAT BOUGHTON, and a Chapel, once
presided over by the Rev. P. Oliver, a somewhat celebrated nonconformist
divine. Near this Chapel, in 1821, a Roman Altar was dug up, in splendid
preservation, and about four feet high, bearing the following
inscription:—
NYMPHIS ET FONTIBUS
LEG. XX. V.V.
the which, being translated, would in English read thus—“To the Nymphs
and Fountains, the 20th Legion, the invincible and victorious.” So much
for BOUGHTON, and its past and present condition; we will now retrace our
steps to the head of ST. JOHN STREET.
Moving rapidly down this street, leaving behind us the POST OFFICE, and
the entrance to the Blossoms Assembly Room, we pause before a house on
our right-hand, approached by a flight of steps, and having a lofty
stuccoed front. This is the MECHANICS’ INSTITUTION, and is consecrated
to the instruction and healthy amusement of that important class of
society whose name it bears. In addition to a Library, comprising
several thousand volumes, this Institution enjoys the advantages of a
News-Room, liberally supplied with the leading daily and weekly papers;
together with sundry classes for the special behoof and instruction of
the members. During the summer months also, members have the right of
free admission to the WATER TOWER MUSEUM, which we described at some
length in our “Walk round the Walls.” What a marvellous fact it is, that
with these benefits within their reach so few mechanics, comparatively,
avail themselves of this, _their own_ Institution!
Beyond this lie the Schools and minister’s house of the Wesleyan
Methodists, divided only by a path to the Walls from the WESLEYAN CHAPEL
itself. The principles of Wesleyanism found their way into Chester as
early as 1760, the first congregation being held at a house in Love Lane.
Fifteen years afterwards, the Octagon Chapel in Foregate Street was
erected for them, and continued to be their place of worship until the
completion of the present edifice in 1811.
But what is there to see within those large folding-doors at the bottom
of St. John Street? Are any _Roman remains_ to be met with in there?
Yes, indeed; but far different, in every point of view, from those we
have hitherto been exploring. This is a _noli me tangere_ domain; for
the elegant mansion and grounds of DEE HOUSE have recently developed,
’neath the double enchantment of money and zeal, into a CONVENT of Nuns.
Of the constitution and management of this veiled religious order we are
not competent to speak, our sympathies being allied unto quite another
creed: but from the specimens we have seen flitting noiselessly about the
streets, we may but little expect to hear any of them singing—
Oh, what a pity such a pretty girl as I
Should be pent in a Nunnery to weep and to cry.
Let us leave then these recluses to the quiet enjoyment of their
lot,—whether it be the nursing of the sick, the feeding of the hungry, or
the schooling of the ignorant children of their communion,—and, “pursuing
the even tenour of our way,” move quickly forward along LITTLE ST. JOHN
STREET. The little row of Almshouses erected by Mrs. Salmon in 1738—the
premises of Messrs. Royle and Son, builders—and the resuscitated fabric
of ST. JOHN’S HOUSE, almost destroyed by fire in the summer of 1855, will
each in their turn salute us on our progress, until the eye rests subdued
before the silent grandeur of the CHURCH OF ST. JOHN.
ST. JOHN’S is the only Church with any pretensions to antiquity now left
to the city outside the Walls,—the minor fanes of St. Thomas, St. John
the Less, and St. Giles, having each disappeared ’neath the hand of the
destroyer during the great Civil War. In Roman and early Saxon times the
land to the southeast of the city, on both sides the Dee, was most
probably a forest—the home of the wild deer, the fox, and the wolf—the
genius of civilisation finding ample field for employment within the
Walls. In those latter days, Ethelred, son of Penda, being king over
Mercia, and withal an amiable and pious prince,
Myndynge moost the blysse of Heuen,
journeyed towards Chester, on a visit, it may be, to his virgin niece,
the holy St. Werburgh, then Abbess of Chester. While there, we are told
that, being admonished by God in a vision “to build a Church on the spot
where he should find a white hind,” the king and his nobles engaged in
the chace, and straightway coming upon a white hind at this very place,
the royal hunter, in 689, founded and erected the Saxon CHURCH OF ST.
JOHN THE BAPTIST. A more beautiful site for the erection of such a
Church could scarcely have been chosen. Seated on an eminence
overlooking the river Dee,—the rock it rests on washed by a stream of far
nobler proportions than the river of _our_ day,—its banks studded with
primæval woods, above which, and far beyond, the peaks of the Cambrian
hills just showed their giant heads,—the yet nearer mountain ranges of
Beeston and Peckforton,—the city itself, engirdled by the Walls of their
Roman predecessors,—such was the prospect that gladdened the eyes of the
good King Ethelred and the chaste Werburga, as they watched the progress
of their newly-founded Church.
What were the actual dimensions of the Saxon ST. JOHN’S is now, and must
ever remain a mystery;—whether any and what portion of the present
edifice may be properly referred back to that remote age is, in like
manner, doubtful. There are, however, many who believe, like ourselves,
that much of the older work, here and there perceptible, belongs to a
period anterior to the Norman conquest. The brothers Lysons, (no mean
authority, you’ll say) pronounce much of the nave and east end of the
church to be late Saxon work—portions, no doubt, of the structure
re-edified by Leofric, Earl of Mercia, in 1057. Originally the steeple
was in the centre of the Church, at the point where the transept
intersects the nave; but in or about 1468, it suddenly gave way, and
destroyed in its fall great part of the choir and east end of the Church.
This tower was soon after rebuilt, and another erected at the west end of
the nave:—the former again fell in 1572, and this time the parishioners
declined to restore it. The west steeple shared a similar fate in 1574,
destroying the whole of that extremity of the fabric. Look up, from our
present position at the Gateway of the Churchyard, and the effects of
this mishap will be at once apparent,—the steeple, one hundred and fifty
feet high, stands isolated from the main body of the Church, that portion
broken in by the fall having since been suffered to remain so by the
authorities of the parish. If we pass round to the west side of the
tower, we shall see midway a canopied niche, in which stands the statue
of the abbot king Ethelred, caressing at his side the “white hind” of his
vision. This statue originally decorated the centre tower; but being
found _miraculously unhurt_ amongst the heap of rubbish created by that
structure in its fall, was removed by the parishioners to its present
lofty and dignified position. This steeple enjoys a set of eight
peerless bells, by far the most melodious of their kind in the city. Six
were cast in 1710, and the other two in 1734, having replaced an older
peal, which existed here at least as early as the reign of Henry VII.
Doubtless, therefore, during the great Civil War, when the news of a
royalist victory reached the ears of the loyal citizens,
Merrily, merrily rang the bells,
The bells of St. John’s church tower.
And “merrily, merrily” ring they still, as the bridal procession issues
from the porch, as well as on days of public rejoicing—whenever, in fact,
loyalty, love, or patriotism need their witching strains. So much for
the outside of ST. JOHN’S CHURCH,—now for a hasty glance at the interior.
Passing through the “old church porch,” adorned with an arch of most
beautiful character, the mouldings of which spring from little delicately
formed shafts, we enter the sacred edifice at its north-western
extremity. Here a prospect awaits us enough to disgust even an out and
out Puritan. Hideous galleries of giant build, through which the light
of heaven can scarcely find its way,—long rows of high wooden boxes, by
those in authority facetiously termed pews!—curtains of green
exclusiveness, separating the rich from their brethren the poor—such,
alas! are our first impressions of this venerable Church! With such
incentives to drowsiness, no wonder the parishioners are so sleepy about
their Church, and so painfully apathetic about its much-needed
restoration!
Threading our way, so well as we can in the gloom, to the bottom of the
centre aisle, we now begin to see, despite these grievous drawbacks,
something of the original glory and magnificence of this ancient fabric.
Following the line of sight eastward, we feast our eyes on the massive
pillars and horse-shoe arches of the Saxon, or it may be early Norman
architect:—noble ideas of strength and symmetry had the builder of those
days! Above these, the double Triforium of later work stretches along
the whole length of the Nave, giving to it an elegance and variety
claimed for no other sacred edifice in Cheshire. Originally the Nave was
just double its present length, boasting eight of those massive
semicircular arches on either side, of which four only now remain,—the
other four vanished ’neath the crash of the western steeple.
Having arrived at the east end of the Nave, we find ourselves standing
between the four lofty piers which, previous to its demolition, supported
the great central tower. At this point the transept divides the nave
from the choir, and though shorn of its fair proportions by modern
reparations wholly devoid of taste, yet contains enough of the original
work to give us an idea of its ancient grandeur. Eastward lay the
Choir,—now for the most part in ruins, and shut out from the present
Church by an interpolated window of very moderate pretensions. The space
beneath this window, once part of the choir, has now become, consequent
on these alterations, the Chancel of St. John’s.
To the right of the Chancel is another horse-shoe arch of very early
work, disclosing, behind, a “fayre chappell,” once the burial place of
the Warburtons, an ancient Cheshire family. A fine sketch of this
Chapel, in his own masterly style, will be found in that now scarce work,
Prout’s “Antiquities of Chester.” The floor is strewed with a number of
incised slabs, discovered at various periods in the church or churchyard:
three of these have been illustrated by Mr. Boutell, in his valuable
works on the history of Christian Monuments. On the opposite side of the
Chancel rests a sculptured slab, bearing the recumbent effigy of an
ecclesiastic, robed in the chesuble and other priestly vestments of the
thirteenth or fourteenth century. The slab, which is somewhat defaced,
and without inscription, was found, in December 1855, some feet below the
surface, on removing the house on the east side of the porch. This is
the third or fourth relic, of a similar character, rescued from
destruction by the intelligent zeal of the present rector, the Rev. W. B.
Marsden. To the left is the Vestry; and near by, ignominiously stowed
away in a corner, lies the crosslegged figure of a warrior, of the
twelfth century perhaps, clad wholly in mail, and supposed to represent a
redoubtable hero of the Carrington family. Close beside, but totally
unconnected with it, lies another incised slab, commemorating one of whom
all we know is that inscribed on the stone itself, “HIC JACET JOHENNES LE
SERJAUN.” Most modern “Guide”-mongers have ignorantly supposed the
mailed figure adjoining to be this _Johennes le Serjaun_; but this is an
error, for the two relics were dug up in different parts of the
churchyard! Numerous other monuments, of more or less interest, lie
scattered around; but as we are now arrived at the north chancel door, we
will bid adieu to the interior of ST. JOHN’S, and again emerge into the
open air.
In the graveyard before us, to the left of what was originally the
extreme north of the Transept, stood until the last century an ancient
house, called the _Woolstaplers’ Hall_, of which all trace has now passed
away. Over the churchyard wall we can see the upper portion of the
GROSVENOR SCHOOL, a charitable institution, erected and endowed by the
first Lord Westminster, but now supported by voluntary contributions.
Farther still to the right is the Rectory House, abutting upon Love
Street and Barker’s Lane, neither of which possesses any charms for us
sightseers.
Turning away to the right from the Church door, a few paces will bring us
to a decayed and half-ruined wall, in the centre of which is a small
pointed arch, known as the entrance-gate to the PRIORY. This arch
originally formed part of the _Nunnery of St. Mary_, near the CASTLE, and
was placed in its present position on the demolition of the ruins of the
former establishment, about thirty years ago. The ground within is,
strictly speaking, private; but permission being courteously afforded to
visitors, we will quietly step into the interior, and ponder awhile on
the scene which now presents itself. The genius of desolation reigns
dominant here; this spot, once the holiest of holies, the _sanctum
sanctorum_ of the Church of St. John, is now a roofless and floorless
waste. We are standing on the site of the original choir, whose walls
oft resounded with purest melody:—but where _now_ are the white-robed
train? The occupation of the chorister is gone—the voice of the priest
has hence for ever died away, and the hymn of praise, of matin and
evensong, no longer echoes along its richly vaulted aisles! Here we see
the effects produced by the fall of the centre steeple, in 1470, and
again in 1572, laying the whole east end of the structure in ruins. Yet
still, amid the general decay, for everything here seems crumbling into
dust, the rich old chancel arch (call it Saxon or Norman, whichever you
will) maintains erect its venerable crest,—the ivy that clasps it, the
trees that overshadow, the mould that corrupts it, serving but to
increase and develop its charms. Passing under the arch, we are
straightway in the Chancel, and close to the spot where the high altar of
ST. JOHN’S of old time stood. Here, it may be, the censor of the priest
wafted aloft the incense at the daily sacrifice;—here the anathemas of
the church were pronounced against excommunicated sinners;—and yet, here,
after a lapse of some four hundred years, rank weeds and grass now
desecrate the ground, while the owl and the bat hold their midnight
levies in this once “holy place.” Cast your eyes o’er that fragment
heap, now formed into a sort of rockery,—every stone there, could it but
speak, has its tale to tell;—here a shattered niche, there a sepulchral
slab, yonder a broken font, there again an image defaced—all rich and
glorious in their time, but surrendered now to undeserved decay! Pass we
on into one of the chapels, where high up in the wall, snugly housed
within the masonry, stands an ancient oak coffin bearing the appropriate
inscription of
Dust to Dust.
[Picture: St. John’s Rains]
The Priory House was built on the ruins of the priests’ houses, but has
of itself no other claim to our notice, being little in character with
aught else around. Thus, then, have we inspected these venerable ruins,
so typical of the vanity of everything human; let us now, all unwilling,
tear ourselves away,
And thence returning, soothly swear,
Was never scene so sad and fair!
Perhaps the best general idea of the Church and Ruins is obtained from
yonder gateway at the east end of the yard, where the eye embraces the
whole at one view. During the Siege of Chester, ST. JOHN’S CHURCH was
taken and garrisoned by the puritans.
From hence we proceed along a narrow pathway to the right, turning round,
as we do so, to take a last fond look at the south side of the Ruins,
which, from whatever point viewed, are distinguished alike for their
sublimity and beauty. Slightly to the westward, on this side of the
Church, stood formerly the _Chapel of St. James_, which the brothers
Lysons assert was the original parish church. If this be true, it was
probably while St. John’s was the Cathedral of the united sees of
Lichfield, Coventry, and Chester; in which case _St. James’s_ must have
been even of greater antiquity than the present Church of St. John.
There is now no trace existing of this venerable Chapel. Yon block of
buildings at the extreme west of the churchyard is known as DEE SIDE, and
the two mansions comprising it were erected on the site of the Bishop’s
Palace and Deanery of the episcopal foundation.
From thence a flight of steps leads down to the GROVES, near a spring of
great repute, called JACOB’S WELL; over which is engraved the warning of
Christ to the woman of Samaria,
Whoso drinketh of this water shall thirst again.
Moving along to the eastward, we see a curious old house, crowning the
edge of the cliff on the left, and known as the _Anchorite’s Cell_. Here
it is traditionally affirmed that King Harold, merely wounded, not
killed, at the Battle of Hastings, was conveyed by his friends, and lived
the life of a hermit for several years. This is an article of faith
which you may believe or reject, as the spirit moves you; for ourselves,
we are tainted with the leaven of unbelief!
Passing QUEEN’S PARK HOTEL, at the foot of the Suspension Bridge, we see
the rich _Grove_ of trees which has given to the present locality its
name. We are now close to the river side, and feeling, moreover,
somewhat tired with our long walk; let us, therefore, with appetites
sharpened by exercise, step into the DEVA, a handsome HOTEL overlooking
the river, and lay violent siege to its well-stored larder. Take care to
lay in a plentiful stock of both liquids and solids ere you quit the
Hotel,—and, “would you know the reason why?” Our next chapter will treat
us to a “Row on the DEE,” and a visit to EATON HALL,—neither of which, as
you’ll presently see, are feats to be accomplished on an empty stomach!