THE RIVER
_There is a willow grows aslant a brook,_
_That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;_
_There with fantastic garlands did she come,_
_Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples._
--SHAKESPEARE: Hamlet.
In tracing the history of our little town from its origin it has often
been observed how important a part has been played in its fortunes by
the river that flows through and partly encircles it. It is to the
river that the town owes its position, and its very existence probably
depended upon the advantages which the stream provided. To the early
settlers a good supply of water and natural means of protection were
necessary to life, and both these were offered by this narrow tongue
of land.
For a long period the river was of little use for traffic, and not
until the seventeenth century was it made properly navigable. Now,
through the neglect of the owners of the navigation rights, it is once
more reverting in places to its primitive character. From Evesham to
Tewkesbury the stream is still in good order, but for a short
distance only towards Stratford-on-Avon.
Apart from the fascination exercised on the mind by the ever changing
surface of water, varied and rippled by motion and by wind, the beauty
of this river is mainly due to the delicate and varied foliage of the
willows and other trees which grow freely beside it, the luxuriant
growth of flowers along its banks--"of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies,
and long purples"--and the variety of blossoming water plants. Few
trees are more graceful than the willow when a slight breeze fans its
branches, mingling the "hoar leaves" with the grey green of the upper
side of the foliage; and many, before and since Shakespeare, have
preserved in the "inward eye" such a vision, reflected in "the glassy
stream" or more usually in the slightly ruffled surface below. The
level meadows, or sloping banks, which skirt the stream have a quiet
charm, and beautiful indeed are they in June, when thickly carpetted
with buttercups and ox-eye daisies. At almost every turn rise the blue
hills, completing the landscape and throwing the sunny meadows into
relief.
We can hardly realise to ourselves the protective value of the river
in old times without rowing both up and down the stream for a mile or
more. Above the town, before reaching the railway bridge we should
look back and notice how steeply the land rises from the river on this
side. On the margin is the mill, and above are the houses, roof over
roof, descending again in steps to the river bridge. At the top is the
Bell Tower, and the church spires are seen near it. From the railway
embankment, or the higher ground beyond, the best picture which the
town affords is to be seen. Below us winds the river, and over the
meadows on an eminence is the cluster of houses forming the town; as a
background we have Bredon Hill, delicately outlined, or dark blue as
if overhanging the vale.
Beyond the bridge we soon come to a picturesquely-situated farmhouse,
standing on a steep bank, and looking down upon the meadows. This is
the Parks Farm, and all the fields on this side bordering the river
were once the deer park of the great Abbey. Presently we reach
Offenham Ferry, while a little beyond, set back behind willow trees
and plough-land, is the village; and we soon catch sight of the old
church tower peering over the bank. At the further extremity of the
village, quite near the bank, is the "Court" farm, once protected by a
moat fed by the river, and used by the Evesham Abbots as a country
retreat. Hither Clement Lichfield, the last Abbot, retired on his
resignation, and here he probably died.
The village of Offenham is peculiar in lying away from any main road,
and this gives it an air of repose and antiquity, which is pleasant in
these days. Whether the place owes its name to Offa, King of Mercia,
is an open question, but according to tradition this monarch owned
land and had a palace here, the site of which is pointed out by the
villagers.
Beside the ferry we have passed there was in old times a bridge, and
still, when the water is very low, the solid foundations of the piers
may be seen with pointed buttresses facing up and down the stream.
When this bridge was destroyed no one can tell; but once upon a time
the road from Worcester to London came over Green Hill, and leaving
Evesham more than a mile to the south, descended the steep hill where
now a grass-grown track marks its course, crossing the river by this
bridge. The farm on the right bank is known by the name of Twyford,
and so we guess that the creek which leaves the main stream a little
way above the ferry once continued its course, forming an island with
a ford on either side. Deadman's Ait is the traditional name of this
island field, and it is supposed some of the stragglers from the
battle of 1265 were slain here while attempting to escape by the ford
or bridge.
The irregularity of the river banks, now nearly level with the water,
sloping gently upwards, or steep and at times almost precipitous, is
much marked as we proceed on our way up the stream. After passing some
gardens, and a steep bank overgrown with gorse, the sluggish stream
quickens its pace, and we soon reach an abrupt turn where the current
is met by an unyielding wall of lias. Under the bare limestone the
water is deep and rushes swiftly, but above, the bank is covered with
tangled growth of blackberry and wild clematis, and in spring the
ground beneath the trees is blue with hyacinths. This sudden turn is
Norton Corner, and though no signs of that village can be seen it
stands hardly a mile away over the ridge of fields. The whole course
we have come may be followed on foot by the old tow-path from the
mill. From this point, after crossing the railway, a farm road will
take us to the end of the village; or we may take the footpath through
the arch beneath the line that we passed a few hundred yards further
down.
After leaving Norton Corner by boat, the river, for a space slow and
easy, soon becomes swift, and as we approach the ruins of an old lock
the passage is attended with difficulties by reason of the shallow
water and the stony bed. If we successfully pass these rapids and gain
the next mill further progress is easy, but the mill can only be
passed by lifting the boat over the steep weir. On the way we pass
the old Fish and Anchor Inn, and a new ford calculated rather for the
convenience of vehicles than of boating parties. From the "Fish and
Anchor" we may ascend the long ridge of Cleeve Bank, and command a
fine view of the valley and the winding of the stream below.
Harvington Mill is at our feet, and the spire of the village church is
visible beyond; further up the stream, some distance beyond the
hanging wood, is Cleeve Mill, one of the prettiest spots on the river.
The village of Cleeve Prior lies behind the bank, and there may be
seen, besides the picturesque cottages and church, the old Manor, now
a farmhouse, with a quaint avenue of box, elaborately clipped, leading
to the front door. Over the fields on the further bank are the
Salfords, and among the trees the curved gables of a fine old Jacobean
mansion may be distinguished. The next place of interest on the stream
is Bidford with its many arched bridge of mediæval date.
If we follow the downward course of the Avon we find ourselves making
a circuit of the town; for a considerable distance the Bell Tower does
not leave us but seems to follow our boat, and ever and anon it
reappears over the meadows and among the trees on our right hand.
Hampton Church stands on rising ground, among the trees, on our left,
and soon we are at Hampton Ferry. If we prefer the walk we can take a
footpath by the bridge or the Bell Tower, and follow the winding
stream to this point. According to the old chronicles a church was
built at Hampton, in the reign of Canute, by Leofric and Godiva, so
well known in the regions of romance, and they gave land here to the
Abbey. The church we see was built and rebuilt by the Monastery, but
whether on the ancient site we know not. It is a small but beautiful
example of perpendicular architecture, and with the dark spreading yew
tree, the remains of the old cross, and the delicately weathered
tombstones, it makes a picture upon which the eye dwells with calm
satisfaction.
The hill above the ferry is Clark's Hill, and the bank we are told was
terraced by the monks of old as a vineyard. Whether tradition is true
to facts we cannot surely say; a field beyond the ridge still bears
the name of the vineyard, and this may have been the actual site. The
ascent of the steep bank is rewarded on a clear day by the splendid
panorama which lies around. From the terrace walk we look down upon
the town, noticing with regret the predominating hues of brick and
slate which mark the modern suburbs; but the old tower, the churches,
and the gatehouse, despoiled but yet dignified, unconsciously hold
the eye. The old wall of the Abbey precincts ended here at the river,
and beside it runs Boat Lane, which would bring us out on the Green.
Looking down the stream, over the railway bridges, we see Green Hill,
with the Abbey Manor and its grounds the most prominent feature. At
some little distance to the right of the house is a grassy comb, and
at the upper end is the spring to which legend points as the spot
where Simon de Montfort was slain, and which still bears the name
Battlewell.
Stretched around us are the Cotswolds, and if we take a path, or lane,
leading over the hill westward we may, from the brow, behold Malvern's
rugged length and the isolated mass of Bredon. Further northward, if
the atmosphere be clear, we should distinguish the most striking
height of the Abberly range, a peak which on one side would almost
seem to overhang, and, away beyond, the Clee heights looking down on
the beautiful and historic town of Ludlow.
Returning to our boat, we glide beneath the Abbey Manor, with its
wooded slopes, and presently we reach Chadbury Lock and Mill. On a
fair and warm day we may rest here in perfect content, listening to
the rush of the weir, watching the swallows flit and skim over the
calm water and break the glassy surface into circling ripples; or
gazing with silent pleasure down the stream as it continues its
peaceful course by wood and meadow.
Not far below Chadbury, past Wood Norton--a country seat of the Duke
of Orleans, and by him lately rebuilt--its deer park and plantations,
past flowery banks, and thick beds of rushes haunted by waterfowl, is
the village of Fladbury. Pleasant-looking houses with trim gardens
border the river on our right, and beyond are two mills, with the
rushing weir between. That on our left is Cropthorne Mill, now a
dwelling-house.
In Fladbury Church are some coats-of-arms in stained glass, said to
have come from the Abbey of Evesham. One shield bears the device of
Earl Simon. There is also a fine altar tomb, inlaid with brasses,
bearing the effigies of some members of the Throckmorton family. The
building is architecturally interesting, but the internal effect is
marred by the removal of the plaster, thus exposing the rough masonry
of "rubble," and the irregularity is much emphasised by "pointing."
On the opposite side of the river is Cropthorne, surmounting a steep
bank. Here are many picturesque cottages of timber and thatch, and in
this village of orchards, the effect of the street is much heightened
if it be seen in the time of the apple-blossom. In this and the
neighbouring parishes we may still find much of that rustic beauty
which we have learned to associate with the names of Birket Foster and
Mrs. Allingham.
The church contains many points of interest. As we enter we cannot but
be impressed by the simple arches of the Norman nave, the carved pews
of mediæval date, and the Jacobean monuments--their once gaudy
colouring mellowed by age. Few churches have been treated with such
gentle consideration, and rarely do we find the true Gothic feeling so
carefully preserved. A beautiful Saxon cross, intricately carved, and
the ancient altar stone, lately discovered buried beneath the floor,
are two valued treasures.