WALLTOWN TO GILSLAND
Walltown farm-house is built on the site of the Tower where lived
John Ridley, the brother of the martyred Bishop, who writes to him as
"My beloved brother, John Ridley, of the Walltown."
The farmer came and spoke to me while I was making a drawing of the
house from the Walltown mile-castle.
"This is a very historic place. John Ridley lived here four hundred
years ago, and here am I, John Ridley, living here still."
In Haltwhistle Church, only 3 miles away, there is a very interesting
tombstone to the memory of John Ridley, with a long rhyming epitaph
(_see facing page_).
Near the farm-house there is a very beautiful avenue of old trees,
beech, sycamore, ash and a few Scotch firs. A park-like meadow lies
in front, in which also are fine trees. Range after range of hills
sweeps away to the south, the most distant being Cross Fell.
{149}
IHON REDLE
THATE SVM
TIM DID BE
THEN: LAIRD OF THE WALTON
GON IS HE OVT OF THES VAL OF MESRE
HIS BONS LIES VNDER THES STON
--------------------------------------------
WE MVST BELEVE BE GODS MERSE
INTO THES WORLD GAVE HES SON
THEN FOR TO REDEM AL CHRESNTE
SO CHRIST HAES HES SOVL WOVN
--------------------------------------------
AL FAETHFVL PEOPLE MAY BE FAEN
WHEN DATH COMES THAT NON CA FLE
THE BODE KEPT THE SOVL IN PAEN
THROVGH CHRIST IS SET AT LEBERTE
--------------------------------------------
AMONG BLESSED COMPANE TO REMANE
TO SLEP IN CHRISTE NOWE IS GON
YET STEL BELEVES TO HAV AGAE
THROVGH CHRIST A IOYFVL RESVRRECCION
--------------------------------------------
AL FRENDES MAY BE GLAD TO HAER
WHEN HIS SOVL FROM PAEN DID GO
OVT OF THES WORLD AS DOETH APPER
IN THE YEER OF OVR LORD
A · 1562
XX
The farm-house sounds kept coming up to me as I sat on the hill
painting, till at last everything seemed to be asleep, even the
farm-carts, which were turned with their shafts up in a row in the
yard.
One evening, while I was sitting here, there was a wonderful effect
of rainbow-coloured clouds above the sun. I never saw anything like
it before. {150} These clouds were in rays, radiating upwards from
the sun as a centre, and they were just like wisps of rainbow. I
can't describe them in any other way. They would form and then
vanish, and form again, and one spot immediately above the sun always
seemed more brilliant than all the rest.
The most modern version of "John Ridley" showed me the chives which
are supposed to date back to Roman times, and which look like patches
of fine grey grass growing on the flat rocks on the hillside below
the mile-castle. I should never have found them without help. I
pulled some up, and ate some of the tiny onion-like roots with my
bread-and-cheese lunch, just to see how they must have tasted to the
Roman sentries, who probably ate them on the same spot when they were
off duty.
I had finished my sketch of Walltown, and it was still in my
painting-case when I was sitting working late one evening on
Sewingshields Crags. The case lay on the grass by my side. When it
was time to go home, I strapped it up tight as usual. Next morning,
when I looked at the sketch, there was a large, round, dry yellow
patch spread out over it! A slug had walked into my painting-case,
and in strapping it up I had compressed it on the middle of the
picture. I removed it carefully with a pen-knife, and every scrap of
colour came with it. The (probable) birthplace of the slug and the
actual {151} scene of its death are two of the pictures which are not
included in this book.
I passed another Wall turret, with only the back wall standing. Just
after that came a wide nick, full of trees, alders and hawthorn,
still dripping from the recent rain. The sweet smell of wet young
bracken greeted me all the time. Before the next nick there are some
good bits of Wall, seven or eight courses high.
So up and down went the Wall, and I with it, clinging to the sides of
the steepest nicks, with unswerving loyalty to plan! Sometimes its
northern face, overhanging the cliffs, presented an unbroken surface
of facing-stones for 5 or 6 feet; sometimes there was but a mere
mound.
Several of the nicks are little groves of trees. Sheep were grazing
everywhere, and rabbits still abounded. You might see them sitting
up on the Wall, the evening sun shining through their transparent
ears, with a (literally) blood-red glow; or playing all sorts of
pranks, apparently without fear of intrusion.
The Wall finally runs straight to the edge of Greenhead Quarry, where
an iron fence is placed, to keep the unwary (or too-faithful!)
follower of the Wall from tumbling over the cliff, as, alas! the Wall
has already done.
In the 1884 edition of Dr. Bruce's Handbook, there is an interesting
picture of a Wall turret standing {152} on the very edge of the
quarry. Now it has gone; it has simply been quarried away!
Not only was the rain over, but the sun was sending long level golden
rays over the tops of the hills as I came to the quarry; and this was
the end of my Wall-walk for the day. They were standing at the door
looking out for me when I arrived at the house where I was to spend
the night, for I had been delayed by the storm.
I had felt indignant about that Wall turret, but the next day I
realized the necessity of forgiving my enemies (in the shape of the
Greenhead Quarry Company), for I accepted an invitation to visit the
quarry before continuing my walk.
[Illustration: THORNY DOORS GAP, WITH NINE NICKS OF THIRLWALL IN THE
DISTANCE]
It is a whinstone quarry, needless to say, for it is busy cutting a
large slice out of the basaltic ridge on which the Wall has clung for
so many miles. I had previously been puzzled by the appearance of
the Cawfields Quarry, which is quite a landmark for miles, making a
rich yellow patch in the landscape. If basalt is a dark blue-grey
stone, how can it make a yellow patch? Now was my opportunity to
inquire. The manager told me that although whinstone is a dark
blue-grey stone, yet it has a yellow "skin" which forms on it under
certain conditions, as, for example, when the earth has got in
through cracks. It is not a good building-stone, apart from its
colour and the difficulty of dressing it, for capillary attraction
draws the water {153} up through it very freely, so that it always
seems damp. "The Romans were not able to work it, as it can't be
worked with wedges."
But somehow they _did_ manage to cut deep ditches through it at the
top of Limestone Bank! The great heaps of grey whin-dust (as it is
called) lying at the quarry were waiting, I was told, to be made into
blocks of artificial stone, being subjected to great pressure, and
thus forming an artificial "conglomerate."
Before I left they gave me a practical illustration of how the stone
is brought down by blasting.
The Wall continues its course along the fields opposite the quarry,
forming a boundary wall between them. It is not in good condition
(having so recently tumbled over the cliff, a frivolous person might
say!), but its ditch is magnificent, and was full of primroses, very
late for the time of year.
The Roman fort of MAGNA is just here, lying to the south of both Wall
and Vallum, which now draw near together again, after their long
separation. No doubt this fort was originally built by Agricola,
long before the Wall was thought of. A recent discovery, given
below, goes to prove that.
The site of the fort is to the west of the farm-house of Carvoran. I
had no difficulty in tracing the north rampart and the north ditch.
The Stanegate came up to the fort, direct from {154} Corstorpitum and
Cilurnum; and another Roman road, the Maiden Way, coming from the
south, joined it near the south-east angle. The two roads are one as
far as Gilsland, where they separate, the former aiming for Carlisle,
and the latter for Birdoswald and Bewcastle.
During the recent war, a very interesting bronze vessel was found at
Carvoran. "Like a bucket, only the top was where the bottom should
be," was the graphic description given me locally, and when I saw the
vessel at Chesters Museum, I felt how well it described it. It was a
measure for corn, of the time of Domitian, the last emperor under
whom Agricola served, but the emperor's name had been erased. It
therefore dates from about 82 A.D., but it looks as if it had been
made yesterday. The inscription is as clear and clean as ever,
except where it has been erased.
"IMP*/*/*/***** CAESARE
AVG · GERMANICO · XV · COS
EXACTVS · AD · S · XVIIS
HABET · P · XXXIIX"
It states that the vessel was measured and tested to hold 17½ pints.
It really holds 20 pints.
No doubt the garrison at Magna received a tribute of British corn in
this measure.
It had long lain near the surface of the ground at Carvoran, and the
postman had kicked at it many a time as he passed, thinking its rim
was {155} an old horseshoe. At last a boy on the farm had the
curiosity to get a spade and dig it up.
The Wall-ditch runs along the fields, in splendid condition, down to
the valley of the Tipalt. The path lies along the north margin of
the ditch. It led me over a fence at the bottom of the second field
into a beautiful little tree-filled glade, with great swelling
undulations in the surface of the ground as it sloped rapidly down to
the Tipalt. At the bottom of this glade Thirlwall Castle came
suddenly into view, and I must confess I was greatly struck by the
beauty of its situation.
Thirlwall Castle (shown in the Frontispiece) dates from the Middle
Ages, and has figured largely in border warfare. It is built
entirely of Roman stones from the Wall. It is now in a very ruined
state, all its eastern side having fallen into the river Tipalt,
above which it stands. A little wooden bridge crosses the stream
just below the Castle, and on this I sat to paint the picture.
Behind me was Holmhead farm-house where there is a Roman inscribed
stone built upside-down into the back premises, and where a dear old
lady lives, the patter of whose wooden clogs I could hear most of the
time as she went about her work. She used to visit me at intervals,
and brought me cushions to sit upon every day I was there.
I spent some happy times on the bridge, with the life of the little
hamlet going on around me: {156} the sound of the dirling-pin on
washing-day, the beating of the bucket to summon the calves to be
fed, the laughter of the children as they played in the stream, and
the tap, tap of the hammer of the old man at the cottage of Dooven
Foot opposite. He was busy making an erection by the side of the
stream to keep his fowls within bounds.
One evening I saw something white, high up on the walls of the
Castle, and went to see what it was. Two little girls, about nine
years old, had climbed adventurously up the walls. They came down
and talked to me; told me how some day "teacher" was going to take
them to the source of the Tipalt, where it rose in the hills. We got
out my map and studied it. We talked of the lonely farms "out-by,"
with their picturesque names, such as Far-Glow, and Hope-Alone, and
Seldom-Seen; and we pictured the solitary lights shining out in the
darkness, and the long, quiet winter evenings they must spend,
sometimes cut off by snow from all communication with the outer
world; until at last a voice from below called, in shocked tones,
"Nora, don't ye know it's nine o'clock?" And so they hurried off to
bed.
Holmhead is a typical Northumbrian farm-house, built of Roman stones
from the Wall.
I painted a picture of it in August, when hay-making was going on.
To our southern eyes, the method of carting hay in these parts seems
{157} very slow and laborious. The hay-wain is dispensed with
altogether. Each hay-cock, or "pike," as they call them, is dragged
separately, by means of chains and a windlass, on to a flat cart with
low iron wheels, called a "bogie." The trundling of the iron wheels
of the bogie on the stony roads becomes a very familiar sound in the
hay-season. We timed the work as I sat painting on the hill, and we
found it took three men one and three-quarter hours to bring in one
pike and unload it, though it came from only two fields away! They
call the process "leading" hay. The hilly character of the ground,
no doubt, accounts for the method employed.
Continuing my walk, I crossed the little wooden bridge over the
Tipalt, and then bore round to the left, past cottages, keeping now
alongside the tawny little river, a true tributary of the "tawny
Tyne."
A heron flew low down across my path, and dived between the low
bushes on the river bank quite close to me. I peeped through them,
and there he was, standing majestically on a stone in the middle of
the river, fishing, looking very beautiful with his blue-grey plumage
and dull yellow legs.
Soon I came to the railway; the Wall is quite lost in these low-lying
fields, and one has to cross the railway by the only path, almost on
the site of the Vallum. Passing a row of new cottages, called
Thirlwall View, I came out into the road {158} leading to Gilsland,
and now I could see the Vallum in the fields across the road. I
entered the nearest field-gate, and was now almost on the site of the
Wall again, as far as Wallend Farm. Then the Wall-ditch appeared
again, very conspicuous indeed, of great size and interest. I
pursued it through grassy meadows, which seemed to be all ditch and
rampart, and over stone walls, till I came to a thick group of trees
beside a stream. Here were the farm-houses of Chapel House and Foul
Town. A troop of young black cattle saw in me a hope of getting
through the farm-gate, and followed me closely, even licking my hands
as I opened the gate! But they did not get through. I could not
find the "Hadrian" stone at Chapel House which Dr. Bruce refers to,
and they could tell me nothing of it at the farm; but I understand it
has been taken to the Black Gate Museum, Newcastle. I crossed a
bridge over the stream and continued westward, Orchard House,
Gilsland and the Shaws Hotel coming into view on the green slopes on
the right.
At the Red House, Gap, a pet lamb with a garland round its neck, made
overtures to me. At the White House, I turned into the farm-yard,
and went to examine the centurial stone mentioned by Dr. Bruce. It
was thickly whitewashed over, and quite illegible. I had seen it so
on a previous visit, and had begged to be allowed to remove {159} the
whitewash, much to the amusement of the farmer's wife. However, she
humoured me, and brought me a bowl of warm water and a sponge. It
was all the kinder of her, because it was Gilsland show-day, a great
occasion, and she was busy sending off the men and the animals in all
their bravery, with coats being brushed, and manes and tails properly
combed out--all in the farm-yard.
I left the stone looking beautifully clear, though it made what the
farmer probably thought was an ugly dark patch in the white wall; but
I begged them to keep it so when next the wall was whitewashed.
So I was disappointed to find they had forgotten. No wonder Dr.
Bruce himself failed at first to find it on his last visit; that is
what I was told had happened.
After leaving White House, I found the Wallditch again magnificent
between Gap and Gilsland Station, and the mounds of the Vallum
running on a higher level than the Wall, for a wonder.
The line of the Wall crosses a side-road to the south of Gilsland
Station, and continues through fields to the Poltross Burn, which is
the boundary between Northumberland and Cumberland. I followed it,
but coming to a stone wall, with piggeries and bee-hives set up close
against it, blocking my path, I had to climb the wooden fence on to
the railway embankment, and so came without difficulty {160} to the
edge of the burn, just where the Wall must have crossed it.
There is a curious stratification of the rocks here; sloping ledges,
from 4 to 6 feet high, make a series of great natural steps down.
There must be a drop of some 20 feet from the bed of the stream,
where the Wall crossed it to the point where the railway arch crosses
it, only a few yards away.
Farther to the south, the banks of the stream are lined with Roman
stones, where the Vallum crossed it; also the sides of the
Vallum-ditch. This is not found elsewhere.
Crossing the burn, I climbed the steep bank on the opposite side,
which is planted thick with trees, and came out just at the site of
the mile-castle which is known as Poltross Burn mile-castle. It was
evidently placed here to guard the passage of the stream. It was
excavated by the late Mr. J. P. Gibson and Mr. F. G. Simpson in 1910,
but has been covered up again, and only a cairn of stones between the
stream and the railway-line marks its situation. Locally, it was
known as "The King's Stables" by the country people. The discovery
in this mile-castle of a flight of stairs leading up to the
rampart-walk is especially valuable, because from them a calculation
of its height could be made. It was found to be 12 feet above the
first-period floor, thus confirming previous calculations of its
probable height. There was also a complete {161} arrangement of
inner buildings with walls 2 feet thick.
The Wall can be seen from here running through the Vicarage garden,
the other side of the railway.
I crossed the line opposite the Vicarage, and then cut across the
fields, past the schools, into the road.
Calling at the Vicarage, I was most kindly received by the Vicar, who
is always willing to welcome pilgrims of the Wall. He showed me the
fine piece of Wall in his garden, the most striking feature of which
is the unusually wide foundation which has been laid bare. There
were also two Roman altars, which had long formed part of the
altar-steps at the little Saxon Church of Over Denton, 2 miles away;
and some centurial stones, ballista balls and mill-stones. He
pointed out where the Vallum also ran through his garden, for Vallum
and Wall are very near together here.
At Over Denton Church the original chancel arch is a Roman gateway
brought from Amboglanna, and the font is formed from the capital of a
Roman pillar.
Close by Gilsland Vicarage lives Miss Ewart, of Raise House, a
favourite resort of archæologists, and students of the Wall, and to
her I appealed for lunch.
{162}