OSWESTRY--SHREWSBURY--BATTLE OF SHREWSBURY--WENLOCK--COUNTY TOWNS
AS CENTRES OF EXCLUSIVE SOCIETY--ITALIAN
ARCHITECTURE--BRIDGENORTH--HEREFORD--ROSS--MONMOUTH--WORCESTER--
GLOUCESTER: NEW INN--CONDITION OF ROADS--TEWKESBURY--CORNWALL.
Oswestry is an exceedingly interesting old town, and was at one time
walled; portions of the wall still remain, and there are also a number
of half-timbered and stone houses of very considerable antiquity.
One example only is given here; it is an old stone house which has been
used for many generations as an Inn, and is said to have been originally
built for that purpose. It is situated near the ancient parish church,
adjoining the churchyard.
The road from Oswestry to Shrewsbury is through an interesting country,
abounding with many pleasing relics of antiquity. It was along this road
that the mighty, and as would now seem the prudent Glendower, marched
with his levies to assist Hotspur at the battle of Shrewsbury, and an
oak at Shelton is still preserved where his march terminated, and which
he ascended to witness the engagement. Shrewsbury, the county town of
Shropshire, is generally visited by tourists to Wales, either at the
commencement or the end of the journey. In some respects it is more
striking than Chester, and at first sight it gives a more vivid picture
of a fine old English town. Chester, it is true, has more hidden
treasures concealed often under modern exteriors; indeed the oldest
inhabitant is probably ignorant of all the ancient relics this city
contains.
Shrewsbury is delightfully situated on a peninsula formed by a bend of
the Severn, and occupies two gently rising hills. It was always an
important stronghold in the civil wars, and its name continually occurs
in the pages of English history. The old timbered house here shown dates
back to the fifteenth century, and was probably the town residence of
the Abbot of Lilleshall, who appears to have figured in the unhappily
futile negotiations between Henry IV. and Hotspur, which preceded the
battle of Shrewsbury.
Shakespeare vividly brings us back to the hot July day when, by forced
marches, Henry reached Shrewsbury only a few hours before Hotspur. The
king burned down the houses on the Hodnel road to prevent their being a
refuge for the forces of
[Illustration: SHREWSBURY.]
Hotspur, and all that now stand are built at a more recent date than the
battle of Shrewsbury. The street here shown is among the most perfect
examples of ancient English streets yet remaining; perhaps it is the
most perfect. It takes a sudden turn at right angles in the middle, and
joins a street running in a different direction, the High Street as it
is called. The houses in this remarkable street are high, and in
excellent preservation, though most of the carved work of the interiors
has been removed. The curious projecting gable here shown is an example
of many other similar ones in the vicinity. For a considerable distance
a person walking down the middle of the street can touch the houses on
either side. We only notice such singular economy of room in walled
cities and towns, for, as has before been remarked, the liberality of
space in villages contributes greatly to their beauty. Each end of this
street, which is called Double Butcher Row, is here given.
[Illustration: OLD HOUSES.]
The spire on the left of the picture is St. Mary’s, and that on the
right is St. Alkmond’s. The latter church was originally built by a
daughter of King Alfred’s. The carving on the exterior of the houses in
this street is as perfect as it was when originally placed in its
present position. The entrance from Pride Hill is surrounded by many
quaint gabled tenements with carved beams and projecting wood-work.
[Illustration: SHREWSBURY.]
Henry IV. reached Shrewsbury a few hours before Hotspur on the 19th of
July 1403, and burned down the houses on the road as before said. This
road was rebuilt shortly after, and many of the houses are still
standing which date back to that period: a block of them is here shown.
The Haughmond hills rise clearly and sharply above them, and are wooded
up to the summits. When the sun rises red over them, and especially if
this is accompanied with a noise of wind, it is a certain sign of a
stormy day. It is impossible not to remark the exceeding accuracy of
Shakespeare in his intensely picturesque description of the battle of
Shrewsbury.
[Illustration: ON BATTLEFIELD ROAD, SHREWSBURY.]
Henry IV., speaking to his son Harry in the camp, says--
How bloodily the sun begins to peer
Above yon bosky[1] hill, the day looks pale
At his distemperature.
_Prince Henry._ The southern wind
Doth play the trumpet to his purposes;
And by the hollow whistling in the leaves
Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.
Another circumstance may be noticed here, though it hardly belongs to
the present work, but it illustrates the ready way in which Shakespeare
took advantage of any incidents that met his eye. In the fruitless
interview between Earl Worcester and the King, the former says--
_Worcester._ Hear me, my liege;
For mine own part I could be well content,
To entertain the lag end of my life
With quiet hours: for I do protest
I have not sought the day of this dislike.
_King Henry._ You have not sought it out, how comes it then?
_Falstaff._ Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.
_Prince Henry._ Peace, chewet, peace.
It has been supposed by Pope and others, that this should read “peace,
_chevet_, peace.” Chevet being the French for a pillow, and this they
supposed alluded to Falstaff’s corpulence. But in an edition published
by Longman and others in 1757 good reasons are given for adopting the
reading chewet--the common green plover or lapwing. This bird, it is
hardly necessary to say, has a habit, when its young are hatched, of
suddenly appearing before any one, and uttering a sharp cry. The prince
has only bantered Falstaff good-naturedly the moment he is summoned to
join the king, and reproves his interruption in this way. It is not
noticed in the edition referred to, but it is worthy of remark that the
meadow lands leading from Shrewsbury to Battlefield literally swarm with
these birds. It is not improbable that the humour of Falstaff’s
statement to Henry, “We rose both at an instant and fought a long hour
by Shrewsbury clock,” may lie in the fact that the clock of St. Mary’s
Church, the one alluded to, has only a single face, and that is turned
to the town, having its back to the battlefield. This clock was erected
shortly before Shakespeare wrote the play. The noble church of St. Mary
contains a tomb of the Leybourne family, to whom the unfortunate
Worcester was related. “Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon too,”
and they were both executed at the high cross immediately after the
battle. Now the tomb (published in _Architectural Drawing Studies_ by
Dean Howson and myself) is about fifty years older, from its style than
the battle, and in opening it some years ago a headless body was found
over the original stone coffin, wrapped in leather, and apparently
hastily interred, which in all probability was the unfortunate Earl’s.
The last house to be illustrated in Shrewsbury is the one at Wyle Cop,
of which a sketch is given. There is nothing to indicate its exact date,
but it must be of considerable antiquity, as the Earl of Richmond,
afterwards Henry VII., slept here on his road to Bosworth field.
Shrewsbury is full of exceedingly interesting remains, and in no town
in England are they more scrupulously taken care of. It is almost a
matter of regret that the scope of the present work forbids a more
detailed account of the Shakespearean recollections of Shrewsbury
battlefield, and the church which was erected in memory of the day.
There is a fine old window with a representation of Henry IV. in armour,
and his face has a singularly sad, majestic look. It was about 150 years
old when Shakespeare saw it, and it is not impossible that it might have
suggested the lines--
“Doff our easy robes of peace,
And crush our old limbs in ungentle steel.
This is not well, my lord, this is not well.”
[Illustration: HEAD QUARTERS OF HENRY VII. ON HIS ROAD TO BOSWORTH
FIELD.]
And again, farther on--
“But if he will not yield,
Rebuke and dread correction wait on us,
And they shall do their office.”
Indeed to many persons an excursion to the battlefield of Shrewsbury,
with a copy of “Henry IV.” in hand, possesses attractions that equal a
visit to Waterloo. Prince Henry’s figure in the same window as the
king’s is rather disappointing. He seems to be a tall youth, very fair,
and somewhat juvenile in his countenance.
Much Wenlock is a charming country town in Shropshire, about twelve
miles to the south-east of Shrewsbury; the road to it lies through
smiling lanes, and past comfortable homesteads. It was with sincere
pleasure that I saw in this part of the country old-fashioned
farm-houses that had not kept pace with the requirements of the age, but
which, instead of being pulled down and replaced by raw new ones, were
tastefully enlarged, and all the creepers and ivy left standing. With a
very little taste and ingenuity this may be done, indeed economically,
and the exterior weather-stained walls may be preserved to the landscape
and the country. Some of the great landowners in the northern and
midland counties are seeing the advantage of this,
[Illustration: ECCLESTON.]
and not a few farm-houses have been altered so as to be pleasant objects
to behold. Bitterley in Shropshire is a notable instance of this, as
also is Aldford in Cheshire, and Eccleston in the same county. Eccleston
and Aldford belong to the Duke of Westminster, and there is no doubt
that their present owner is keenly alive to the charms of an English
landscape. One instance of this transformation is here given--the
school-house at Eccleston, which, to a passer-by, would be taken for an
ancient house: the window with its evergreen is old, but the gable over
it and the chimneys are modern. Excellently well they harmonise with the
surroundings, and fill a corner of the beautiful village. And here a
word may be introduced about “shams,” as they are called in
architecture, regarding which there is much misapprehension. The “sham,”
pure and simple, is contemptible; such is a manufactured ruin of an
abbey or castle, or woodwork painted to represent another material, and
intended to convey a wrong impression to a spectator; but where
black-and-white gables and walls fit in upon old work, and dark coloured
stone chimneys of antique shape look like parts of the original
structure, it is a happy circumstance. Indeed I should go much further
in this direction, and say that if, as often happens, new stones have to
be inserted in old carved façades, richly coloured by age, the effect is
not pleasant when the contrast is great. In such cases it would be
better to give the new stone a tint to tone it into harmony. The
generation who put it into the building will have passed away before its
patchy appearance will have gone; and why should they be condemned to
look upon a harlequin front, when, by overcoming a little prejudice, it
might be prevented? This prejudice, it is true, rose from a proper
principle, and was a proper protest against the age of shams and
affectation. Hardly more than two generations ago art was at the lowest
ebb, and the chances seemed strongly against its ever reviving.
Everything was fantastic and false; a gentleman had his portrait taken
as Apollo, and a lady as Ceres or Diana; while the veriest country
yokels who could not read, no, nor their children after them, were
alluded to with the utmost effrontery by the Georgian poets as Phyllises
and Corydons playing on lutes to sheep, or occupying their working-hours
in some other useful occupation, and spending their leisure moments in
composing iambics to their damsels.
It is with positive shame we turn back to such recollections, and half
our indignation against the churchwardens of the period, who destroyed
so much beauty, vanishes when we consider they only did as their
betters; indeed, rich as our island yet is in architectural remains, I
believe that since the accession of George III. an almost equal amount
to that which remains has been destroyed.
But to return to Wenlock from this somewhat lengthy digression, there
are remains of a magnificent abbey there founded by the Black monks, and
exhibiting several styles of architecture, especially the Early English;
and there are mouldings and details of great beauty, but in
comparatively recent days, much of this building has been carted away
and used up for repairs and outbuildings to farm-houses.
[Illustration: LODGE TO MUCH WENLOCK ABBEY.]
The charming remain here represented appears to have been an entrance to
some part of the abbey buildings, which, according to Dugdale, enclosed
a liberty of thirty acres; but the remains are numerous in all
directions, and unfortunately we find too many of the carved stones
built up in stables and styes, having been removed by the Corydons that
formed the subjects of so many pastoral poems of the Georgian age.
[Illustration: MARKET PLACE, WENLOCK.]
The market-hall of Wenlock is the black-and-white covered space shown,
and over it are the rooms connected with the business of the town and
surrounding district. This market is in an excellent state of
preservation, and is resorted to by the country people in great numbers
weekly. Shropshire formerly abounded with these country market halls;
but now their numbers are diminished considerably. An opportunity was
afforded me when in Wenlock of seeing the demolition of a pair of very
ancient houses near the market. Some of the great chimney stacks were so
exceedingly strong that they seemed almost to defy the picks of the
workmen; the mortar, which was wanting neither in lime nor in quantity,
had set so hard that the last chimney stack stood up alone, perfectly
upright, after at least half of its base had been destroyed. The
inhabitants told me that it was always considered to be one of the
oldest buildings in Wenlock, but the exterior was entirely destroyed
when I visited the town. The old house which is introduced as probably
forming part of the abbey, seems to have been a kind of gatehouse to
some part of the premises; it is apparently about 450 years old, and is
in a perfect state of preservation. Some of the inhabitants appear to be
very proud of it, and so we may fain hope that its days may be long in
the land. The last sketch of Wenlock represents an old half-timbered
house with a bold bow window; some of the lights have been plastered up,
as is apparent from the sketch, but they could readily be opened. This
house has recently been purchased, and is to come down. Perhaps it is as
much to this circumstance as any other that it has found a place in
these pages.
[Illustration: WENLOCK.]
Shiffnal is another fine old town in Shropshire, situated on the London
road. It fairly brings back the old coaching days to our memory. The
inns have an unusually hospitable look, and the unoccupied stabling is
enormous. The comfortable window seats, the bow windows, and great bar
parlours have refreshed many a Tony Weller and his “insides.” It is a
little singular that a veritable mail-coach carrying her Majesty’s mails
does yet ply in these parts; a stranger at Bridgenorth is perhaps
astonished at seeing a coach and four galloping over the Severn bridge,
and wakening the old gabled houses with its horn; and this is no amateur
affair, but it has plied from time immemorial from that town to
Wolverhampton. The railroad connection which lies through Shiffnal is
very circuitous, and they say that time is saved in going by the
mail-coach.
[Illustration: SHIFFNAL, SALOP.]
There are more town residences in a complete state in Shropshire than in
Cheshire, though in Chester a number are covered up with new fronts. At
one time indeed nearly all the great county families of Cheshire had
residences in Chester. The Stanley Palace is still standing where the
Earl of Derby was arrested and sent to execution at Bolton by the orders
of Cromwell, and on each side of Watergate Street, where this palace is
situated, are the remains of ancient city mansions. The tendency of
families to migrate to the county town instead of London in the
“season,” was partly owing to the difficulty of the roads (for nothing
now in England can give an idea of the undertaking of a journey of 200
miles to London), and partly also to a singular law which forbade as far
as possible any country gentleman who was not in parliament from
residing in London. D’Israeli, in the _Curiosities of Literature_,
mentions some remarkable features of the dread people entertained of an
overgrown metropolis. “Proclamations warned and exhorted; but the very
interference of a royal prohibition seemed to render the metropolis more
charming;” though for all this, from Elizabeth to Charles II.,
proclamations continually issued against new erections.
James I. notices “those swarms of gentry, who, through the instigation
of their wives, did neglect their country hospitality, and cumber the
city, a general nuisance to the kingdom.” He once said, “Gentlemen
resident on their estates are like ships in port--their value and
magnitude are felt and acknowledged; but when at a distance, as their
size seemed insignificant, so their worth and importance were not duly
estimated.” The England even of the present century is changed out of
all possible knowledge; indeed those are yet living who can look back
with a smile at the solemn county balls, which were almost as difficult
of access, and as jealously guarded, as a court presentation of these
days. The Grosvenors and Derbys even of a century ago fought keenly for
the mayoralty of a country town.
Nor were good reasons wanting for eschewing London. Only two centuries
ago a Sussex squire, Mr. Palmer, was fined in the sum of £1000 for
residing in London rather than on his own estate in the country, and
that even in face of the fact that his country mansion had been burned
within the two years when his trial took place! We are told that this
sentence struck terror into the London sojourners; and it was followed
by a proclamation for them to leave the city with their “wives and
families, and also widows.” And now we have no difficulty in
understanding why there are so many large mansions in small country
towns. The habit of making the best of a hard lot influenced the gentry
even long after it would have been safe to have followed Mr. Palmer’s
example; and so we find up to the Hanoverian period large old-fashioned
houses in some small country towns, that look, as Dickens says, as if
they had lost their way in infancy, and grown to their present
proportions.
Sir Richard Fanshaw wrote a curious poem on the subject of the
proclamation for gentlemen to reside on their own estates, of which four
verses may suffice as a sample:--
“Nor let the gentry grudge to go
Into those places whence they grew,
But think them blest they may do so.
Who would pursue
The smoky glories of the town
That may go till his native earth,
And by the shining fire sit down
On his own hearth.
* * * * *
Believe me, ladies, you will find
In that sweet life more solid joys,
More true contentment to the mind
Than all town toys.
Nor Cupid there less blood doth spill,
But heads his shafts with chaster love;
Not feathered with a sparrow’s quill,
But with a dove.”
There are even of Queen Anne’s reign many excellent specimens of town
architecture in remote villages of Cheshire and Shropshire. Mr. Norman
Shaw has brought this late classic architecture again into deserved
repute, and quite a new work might be published of the details of
them,--the well-considered mouldings, the wreaths, and chimney-pieces.
Many of these houses were inhabited even in the present century by
courtly--perhaps somewhat formal--gentlemen, and now they are turned
into boarding-schools or village tenements. Railways, of course, have
rapidly and completely changed the scene. The old moralist in Thackeray
laments the change of times, when a man of quality used to enter London,
or return to his country house, in a coach and pair, with outriders, and
now his son “slinks” from the station in a brougham. In speaking of the
change that came over the architecture of England in the Elizabethan
age, when Italian forms superseded the indigenous ones, it is not for a
moment meant that the change was for the better. There was an incessant
craving for foreign importation, which was a subject of satire among the
writers of those days.
Portia says, in the _Merchant of Venice_, when speaking of her English
suitor, “I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in
France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour everywhere.”
No, the change to Italian architecture was not for the better. It is
true that picturesqueness was not stamped out of the genius of England,
and so a number of the buildings that were put up until the reign of
George the Second were shapely and often noble; indeed the classic style
has a breadth about it, no doubt, that makes it safe for modern
architects to deal with, especially in country houses. Of course the
formal rows of windows, if the house is a very large one, are a serious
matter to deal with, as far as the plan is concerned. A satirist of the
French school complained that in the new Palace at Versailles a large
window, under pompous architraves on the outside, had to light a
footman’s closet and a back staircase, a partition inside making an
awkward division between the two. Still a broad classic front surrounded
by elms has a stately appearance; and perhaps in certain situations,
like the margin of a Westmoreland lake, might seem peculiarly well
adapted to the wants of the landscape. Too often a Gothic house among
trees, if of recent erection, is a mass of confusion; the chimneys and
gables do not stand out clearly from each other, and breadth is entirely
lost; while the architect who designed it might have safely trusted
himself to an Italian façade. A thoroughly fine front, like Compton
Wynyates, Hadden, or even Trevallyan Hall in the charming vale of
Gresford--where every part tells, and stands out, and where,
notwithstanding its many angles, breadth is preserved--is perfection in
a British landscape. There are, of course, architects of the present day
who can design such a building, but their name is not legion. Tudor
architecture is admirably adapted for cities and towns, and much more
easily handled in a street than among trees. By Tudor is here meant the
English domestic style that prevailed in the sixteenth century, and this
term is now commonly applied to the architecture of England after the
fifteenth century. It is not a correct term in any sense of the word,
but I have sought for another in vain that would be even remotely
intelligible to a general reader.
Could old English architecture be revived in its purity and beauty,
Italian importations could well be spared. But even before the
destruction of monasteries it was on the wane, the careless indulgent
life of the monks of later date is shown in all their works. The flat
arched windows were devoid of any great design, and the workmanship was
very bad. These were the days when grotesque groups (giving them a mild
adjective) flourished and were admired, thrusting out the angels and
grave apostles of the preceding centuries, and slovenly work followed
careless design. Often in a building of various dates the tall light
shafts of the thirteenth century rise to vast heights, and are as
straight and truly worked as they were when first cut, looking indeed
like one tall stone of matchless workmanship, while the masonry of the
sixteenth century, especially if late, has begun to show its joints and
to gape. Such conclusions continually force themselves upon the
architectural student who looks below the surface for a cause.
Bridgenorth is situated on the Severn, and is extraordinarily
picturesque. The town is planted on a steep hill, and nearly every house
in it is ancient. There is an old covered market where the country
people congregate on Saturdays; it is in fact an enlargement of the
“Market Cross” of bygone days. The lower part of this building is of
brick, and the upper part is black and white; a new market has recently
been built, but the country people always flock to the old one so long
as there is standing room in it. Bishop Percy’s house, here shown, was
formerly filled with excellent carved work, but now it is used as a
smithy and blacksmith’s shop; the front to the steep street is a fine
specimen of black-and-white work, and it is pleasing to be able to add,
it is highly prized by the inhabitants.
[Illustration: BRIDGENORTH: HOUSE WHERE BISHOP PERCY WAS BORN.]
There are in Shropshire many other towns of interest and beauty. Ludlow,
with its “Feathers” Inn, is well known. The “Feathers,” of course, is in
allusion to the Prince of Wales, and the name is common in all of the
Welsh border towns.
There are also Cleobury Mortimer, Church Stretton, and Bishop’s Castle;
but all these have been tolerably well represented, as far as their
architecture is concerned, by examples already given. The domestic
architecture of Hereford, Gloucester, and Worcester, differs
considerably from that we have been considering, but it also contains
many examples of beauty and value.
The city of Hereford is delightfully situated on the Wye, and though
modern improvements have destroyed many old features, of which the
recollections remain, there are a few specimens of antique architecture.
The Wye Bridge and its ancient gatehouses were formerly among the most
picturesque objects in the kingdom. Of the history of Hereford there is
no necessity to speak at any length. It is generally now admitted that
it has few claims to Roman origin; and, as Britton briefly says, “When
civil dissensions unhappily divided the land, being a place of some
importance, it was anxiously contended for by the opposing factions, and
was often the scene of warfare. Gates, walls, bastion towers, etc., were
therefore erected for its defence; and hostelries, chapels, and other
edifices, were constructed for the accommodation of those who followed
in the train of the successive occupants of the castle, or who visited
the shrines of St. Ethelbert and St. Thomas Cantelupe. Some of these
still remain, but variously mutilated and defaced.”
[Illustration: BUTCHER’S ROW, HEREFORD.]
The house here shown was part of the old Butcher’s Row--in Britton’s
time “a large and irregular cluster of wooden buildings,” placed nearly
in the middle of the High Town. Formerly there were a number of
connected houses in this Row, but they have been taken down, and the
one represented is the only one now left. “The window-frames, doors,
stairs, and floors, are all made of thick, solid masses of timber, and
seem destined to last for ages: over one of the doors is a shield
charged with a boar’s head and three bulls’ heads, having two winged
bulls for supporters, and another bull for a crest: thus caricaturing
the imaginary dignity of heraldry. On other parts are emblems of the
slaughter-house, such as axes, rings, and ropes.” The outline of this
building is exceedingly picturesque, and it is evidently of the age of
James I. Close to this stood the old Town Hall, chiefly built of timber,
and resting on three rows of arches, nine in each. But about twenty
years ago this interesting structure was pulled down. There were
apartments in it for the fourteen city guilds. John Abel built this
curious old relic in the reign of James I., and the same man, who was
originally of humble parentage, built some powder and corn mills when
the city was besieged by the Scotch army in 1645.
In “_Pipe Lane_” the small cottage used to stand where Nell Gwynn was
born. It was only recently pulled down, and is described as a small
four-roomed tenement, hardly beyond the requirements
[Illustration: OUTHOUSE: NELL GWYNN’S BIRTHPLACE, HEREFORD.]
of the humblest farm labourer. Opposite this cottage the Blue Bell Inn
stands, a hostelry now going to ruin; but an extremely picturesque
outhouse opening on the Wye remains, and was standing in Nell Gwynn’s
time; an illustration of this is given, and some parts of it are
suggestive for modern designers. The cottage where Nell Gwynn was born
might easily have been allowed to remain, as it really stood in no
thoroughfare, and so the birthplace of the founder of Chelsea Hospital
might have been saved to the nation.
The pleasant town of Ross is situated on the left bank of the river Wye.
The streets are narrow and very steep, and there are many remains of old
half-timbered houses that give it very much the appearance of some
Rhenish town. But Ross owes most of its celebrity to being the
birthplace of John Kyrle, the celebrated “Man of Ross,” who benefited
his native town and county out of a modest estate of £500 per annum, and
has been immortalised by Pope and Coleridge.
The house he lived in is on the left of the market-place, and is divided
into a chemist’s shop and a dwelling. “The floors and panellings of
several chambers are of oak; a quaint opening leads to a narrow
corridor, and into a small room, traditionally said to be the bedroom,
where he endured his first and last (his only) illness, and where he
died. It looks upon his garden. That garden is now divided like the
house; one half of it has been strangely metamorphosed, the other half
has been converted into a bowling-green; the surrounding walls of both,
however, contain flourishing vine and pear trees.” The market-hall of
Ross stands at the head of the principal street on a steep eminence,
and though it is much crumbled it is still in daily use. From Ross to
Monmouth the distance, through a road of great beauty, is about sixteen
miles, but it is twice this measurement by water. The celebrated
Goodrich Court stands in this road, where Sir Samuel Meyrick collected
his armoury, and in the area of the courtyard at Goodrich Castle
Wordsworth met with the little girl who figures in his ballad of “We are
Seven.”
[Illustration: MARKET PLACE, ROSS.]
[Illustration: GATE ON MONMOUTH BRIDGE.]
Monmouth is situated at the junction of the Monnow and Wye, and derives
its name from the former river, as being at the mouth of the Monnow, and
the bridge over the Monnow is remarkably picturesque. It belongs to the
style that prevailed during the thirteenth century, and is extremely
valuable as an example of the architecture of that period: it somewhat
resembles some of the York bars in detail, but probably was never a
military work. It was only built for the collection of tolls on the
traffic into the city, and corresponded with the gatehouses at Hereford
bridge, now unfortunately destroyed.
[Illustration: MARKET PLACE, MONMOUTH.]
Monmouth was the birthplace of Henry V., and his statue adorns the front
of the market-place, of which a sketch is given here, though of course
this structure is of a more recent date than the reign of Henry. All
round the market-place the celebrated Monmouth caps were made that
occasionally figure in old writings. Fluellen, in “Henry V.,” says: “If
your Majesty is remembered of it, the Welshmen did good service in a
garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps.”
Usk and Abergavenny are other ancient towns in Monmouth that have
declined in importance during modern times, but they are very pleasant,
and there are still remains of their former splendours in the streets.
Worcester is generally supposed to have been a link in the chain of
military defences of the eastern bank of the Severn that extended from
Uriconium to Gloucester, and as early as the year 680 it was surrounded
by lofty walls, and was strongly fortified. The bishops were great
territorial lords, and their authority extended from Warwickshire to
Bristol. Henry II. and his queen were crowned in the cathedral, and King
John was buried there. Indeed, few cities in England have been more
connected with events in history.
The courtyard of a house in Friar Street is a good example of the street
architecture of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Friar Street is
called from the house of Grey Friars that was formerly situated at the
north end of the street, and
[Illustration: FRIAR STREET, WORCESTER.]
is now completely destroyed. The houses in Friar Street afford an
interesting series of the class of building that prevailed during the
reigns of the Henrys and Elizabeth. The timber beams of which the houses
are constructed are piled up with mortar or bricks, and whitewashed;
while the overhanging storeys, the high-pitched gables, the lead
lattices in the windows, and the rude grotesque ornaments, present an
almost unique picture of an English street.
[Illustration: WORCESTER.]
At the end of Friar Street is the Corn Market, where Charles II. was
concealed after the battle of Worcester.
The gates of the city were open to him on his march from Scotland with
the army he had raised there, and he made Worcester his head-quarters,
in the house where Judge Berkeley was born. Of the
[Illustration: WORCESTER.]
memorable battle of Worcester, which ended the prospects of the Stuart
line for a time, a local historian says, on the 3d September, after a
skirmish at Powick, the order was given by the king to attack Cromwell,
then lying at Perry Wood, about a mile from the town. The contest
commenced rather late in the day, and it was in favour of the Cavaliers,
who compelled the Parliamentary troops to abandon some of their guns;
but reinforcements arrived in great numbers from the other side of the
Severn to support the Republicans, and after maintaining a very unequal
combat for a long time the king’s troops were obliged to retreat; a
handful of troops defended Sidbury gate, whilst the king escaped from
his pursuers. His Majesty, on entering Sidbury, was obliged to dismount,
and creep under a waggon of hay which had been purposely upset across
the street at that part to impede the ingress of his pursuers, and he
entered the city on foot. A horse was immediately brought ready saddled,
by a Mr. Badnall, who lived near Sidbury gate, and the king was thus
enabled to hasten to his quarters, at a house in the corn market, from
the back door of which he escaped with Lord Wilmot, just as Col. Cobbett
reached the front in pursuit of him. Over this house, which, as before
said, is still standing in the corn market, is the inscription, “Love
God. (W.B. 1557. R.D.) Honour the King.”
The illustration of the entrance into the Cathedral Close represents the
front of Edgar Tower looking towards the east. It is said to be
uncertain if this building was designed by the castellans or
ecclesiastics, as there is some doubt concerning the ownership of the
site on which it stands; but appearances, which, in the architecture of
the period, are a fair indication of such things, seem
[Illustration: CLOSE IN WORCESTER.]
rather to point out the former as having been the original proprietors.
Nor is there any record as to the actual date of the building, which has
often been a subject of antiquarian doubt and speculation. It seems that
in the year 1730 two old English letters, M and W, implying, as was
supposed, the date of 1005, were discovered by some workman who was
employed to repair the outside of the building, but this cannot be
relied on. All the architecture that now is left would point to the age
of King John. “The general thickness of the walls,” says Britton, “and
the double gateway it presents, show that it was intended to repel
assailants, and to protect the interior area and its inhabitants from
enemies.”
Other monarchs since Charles have visited Worcester; especially to be
noted are James II. and George III. The latter presented his portrait to
the Corporation, and the former attended the Cathedral on October 23,
1687, where it is recorded that he touched several persons for king’s
evil, almost the last instance on record. His successor William III. did
certainly yield to sundry entreaties to touch some sufferers, but he
added, “God give you better health and more sense.”
When King James visited the city he attended mass at the old Catholic
chapel, and was waited on by the mayor and Corporation; but these
dignitaries objected to enter a Catholic place of worship, and left him
to enter alone. A minute in the Corporate accounts seems to explain how
the time was spent, for they adjourned to the “Green Dragon,” and spent
the time in smoking and drinking till the service was over, loyally
charging their bill to the city.
[Illustration: NEW INN, GLOUCESTER.]
The next illustration is extremely interesting. It represents the “New
Inn” at Gloucester, and its history is curious. Edward II. was murdered
under circumstances of great cruelty at Berkeley Castle, and was
interred in the Abbey Church of Gloucester, a shrine being raised by the
monks over his remains. Lord Berkeley would, it is said, have willingly
protected the weak king, but he fell sick; and Edward was given over one
dark September night to the tender mercies of “two hell-hounds, that
were capable of more villainous despite than becomes either knights or
the lewdest varlets in the world,” Thomas Gurney and William Ogle. The
chronicler says that “screams and shrieks of anguish were heard even so
far as the town, so that many being awakened therewith from their sleep,
as they themselves confessed, prayed heartily to God to receive his
soul, for they understood by those cries what the matter meant.”
The New Inn was originally designed to accommodate the pilgrims that the
monks had been able to collect to the shrine. The view of the courtyard
here given differs but little from its present appearance. It has been
slightly modernised, but all the details remain to complete the present
drawing, which differs indeed but little from John Britton’s, published
in the early part of the present century. Most of the pilgrims brought
some offering with them, and hence the pains that were taken for their
accommodation. The hotel built at Glastonbury for a similar purpose
still remains, and is the principal one there at the present day. The
buildings of New Inn surrounded two square courts, and were ascended by
rows of steps--as appears in the engraving--communicating with two rows
of galleries, and these led to various apartments and dormitories. The
present inn was built about the year 1450 in Northgate Street by John
Twining; and the usual tale about a subterraneous passage to the
Cathedral is handed down, which indeed corresponds with the stories that
are current of all religious houses. There is a commonly received
tradition among country people in the neighbourhood of Chester that a
tunnel, closed up at each end, exists between Chester Cathedral and
Saighton Hall, a country-seat of the abbots of Chester; and if such a
passage ever was constructed, it would compare rather favourably with
Cenis tunnel.
This inn is enormously strong and massive, and covers a large area. It
is said that half of it is built of timber, principally chestnut.
The luxury of these roomy hotels, after a journey that no market-cart in
the most rural district in England would now tolerate, must have been
great indeed. In the _Grand Concern of England explained by a Lover of
his Country_, 1673, we read, “What advantage can it be to a man’s health
to be called out of bed into these coaches an hour or two before day in
the morning; to be hurried in them from place to place till one, two, or
three hours within night, insomuch that, after sitting all day in the
summer time stifling with heat and choked with dust, or in the winter
time starving or freezing with
[Illustration: GLOUCESTER.]
the cold, or choking with filthy fogs, they are often brought into their
inns by torchlight, when it is too late to sit up and get a supper, and
next morning they are forced into the coach so early that they cannot
get breakfast? What addition is it to a man’s health or business to ride
all day with strangers--oftentimes sick, ancient, diseased persons, or
young children crying,--all whose humors he is obliged to put up with,
and is often poisoned with their nasty scents, and crippled with the
crowd of boxes and bundles? Is it for a man’s health to be laid fast in
the foul ways and forced to wade up to the knees in mire, afterwards
sitting in the cold till teams of horses can be sent to pull the coach
out? Is it for their health to travel in rotten coaches, and to have
their tackle, or perch, or axle-tree, broken, and then to wait three or
four hours (sometimes half a day), and afterwards to travel all night to
make good their stage?”
The well-known scene from the Inn Yard, Rochester, in _Henry IV._
illustrates all this, as also the scarcity of clocks, and the necessity
the inhabitants were under to use any means at hand for ascertaining the
time of day or night. The discomfort the picture presents will remind
any one of travelling in America where the train has to be met at night,
or early in the morning, and is detained probably by snow or an
accident. The disjointed conversation and weariness are wonderfully
portrayed.
_1st Carrier_ (with a lantern). Heigh ho! An’t be not four by the
day, I’ll be hanged; Charles’s wain is over the new chimney, and
yet our horse not packed. What, Ostler, etc.
The discontent and querulousness are well shown; the carrier says--
[Illustration: TEWKESBURY.]
“I prythee, Tom, beat Cut’s saddle, put a few flocks in the point;
the poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.”
His companion, who joins them, says--
“This house is turned upside down since Robin Ostler died.”
and the first carrier, who seems all through to be of a more lively
turn, adds,
“Poor fellow! never joyed since the price of oats rose; it was the
death of him.”
The condition of the roads may be gathered from the fact, that though
these men had not more than some thirty miles to travel, they did not
expect to finish the journey till night. One of them had a “gammon of
bacon and two razes of ginger to be delivered as far as Charing Cross,”
and the other was carrying live turkeys to London, yet the carrier says,
in answer to Gadshill, that he hopes to be in London “time enough to go
to bed with a candle;” but there seems to have been little improvement
even up to the end of last century, when a gentleman of landed property,
journeying from Glastonbury to Sarum in his carriage, requested his
footman to provide himself with a good axe to lop off any branches of
trees that might obstruct the progress of his vehicle. Indeed nobody
knows what benefactors to their race such men as Telford and Macadam
have been.
In 1703 the road from Petworth to London was so bad that the Duke of
Somerset was obliged to rest a night on his way to London, though this
distance was hardly fifty miles. And in March 1739 or 1740 Pennant, the
author of the Journey through Wales, travelled by stage, and in the
first day got with “much labour” from Chester to Whitchurch, twenty
miles; and, after a “wondrous effort,” reached London before the
commencement of the sixth night.
[Illustration: BLACK BEAR, TEWKESBURY.]
The Inn at Tewkesbury, here shown, differs from the last, as there is no
quadrangle, and probably it was not originally designed for a hostelry,
but it is drawn exactly as it now stands. The New Inn at Gloucester has,
however, been very slightly modernised, very slightly indeed, and a
guest in this well-kept establishment might readily condone any recent
work. The view of Tewkesbury, here given, is from the riverside, and
shows the monastic buildings converted into a mill.
There are not many streets or homesteads in Cornwall of the character
this work is intended to illustrate.
Launceston is the old county town, and is delightfully situated on the
banks of the Attery; but Bodmin is the place where assizes are now held,
and here Perkin Warbeck marshalled his Cornish men prior to his march on
Exeter. A curious story, that dates back to the sixteenth century, is
told of the Mayor of Bodmin. He was directed by a king’s officer to have
a gallows erected for a person who had been supposed to have some
connection with a recent rebellion. As soon as it was ready the mayor
was asked if it was strong enough to carry him, and replied, “Without
doubt it is.” “Then up with you, Master Mayor,” he replied, “for it is
meant for thee.”
There are many traditions and ballads connected with this charming
county; but few persons will forget the recent surprise they felt on
learning that the celebrated Cornish ballad, “And shall Trelawney
die?”--a ballad that Macaulay quotes as genuine--is the composition of a
clergyman who died recently, and left a somewhat eccentric character
behind him.
The old market-place and cross, Penzance, are now being considerably
modernised, but the engraving here given faithfully represents it as it
stood. The market-place resembles the Rows at Totness, or the
half-developed Rows outside Chester, and the crooked chimney-stack is
supposed (perhaps rightly too) to be a preventive to smoke.
[Illustration: OLD MARKET, PENZANCE.]
[Illustration: TEWKESBURY.]
Penzance is the most westerly town in England, and has given birth to
Sir Humphrey Davy and Captain Pellew (Lord Exmouth). Liskeard, which
returns a member to Parliament, is described correctly enough as a
rather sleepy market-town; and, with the exception of St. Germans, which
was once the cathedral city of Cornwall, there is little connected with
our present subject in this county. This cannot, however, be said of
Devonshire, which abounds with quaint old towns and pleasant homesteads.
Here the artist goes for latticed cottage windows, gables, and
trellissed porches covered with evergreens. The meadows are dotted with
fine timber trees, and narrow shady lanes lie through rows of elms and
beech trees, while nearly every variety of wild flower and fern adorn
the hedges.
It is commonly said that Thackeray laid the scene of Pendennis’ early
years in Devonshire. Clavering is supposed to be Ottery St. Mary’s,
Exeter figures as Chatteris, and Baymouth of course is Exmouth.
Certainly the description of the place where Costigan resided would seem
to suit the Close of the ancient city. “The captain conducted his young
friend to that quiet little street in Chatteris, which is called Prior’s
Lane, which lies in the ecclesiastical quarter of the town, close by
Dean’s Green and the canons’ houses, and is overlooked by the enormous
towers of the cathedral; there the captain dwelt modestly in the first
floor of a low gabled house, on the door of which was the brass-plate of
“Creed, tailor and robemaker.”
His description of Clavering St. Mary is very beautiful; the river Brawl
might be of course the “Otter,” if the generally received opinion that
Devonshire is the scene of this delightful work is correct. “Looking at
the little old town of Clavering St. Mary from the London Road, as it
runs by the lodge at Fairoaks, and seeing the rapid and shiny Brawl
winding down from the town, and skirting the woods of Clavering Park,
and the ancient church tower and peaked roofs of the houses rising up
among trees and old walls, behind which swells a fair background of
sunshiny hills that stretch from Clavering westward towards the sea, the
place looks so cheery and comfortable that many a traveller’s heart must
have yearned toward it from the coach top, and he must have thought that
it was in such a calm friendly nook he would like to shelter at the end
of life’s struggle.”
His description later on in the work, of the inside of Clavering town,
is marvellously graphic. “Clavering is rather prettier at a distance
than it is on a closer acquaintance. The town, so cheerful of aspect a
few furlongs off, looks very blank and dreary. Except on market-days
there is nobody in the streets. The clack of a pair of pattens rings
through half the place, and you may hear the creaking of the rusty old
ensign at the Clavering Arms without being disturbed by any other noise.
There has not been a ball at the assembly rooms since the Clavering
volunteers gave one to their colonel, old Sir Francis Clavering; the
stables which once held a great part of that brilliant, but defunct
regiment, are now cheerless and empty, except on Thursdays when the
farmers put up there, and their tilted carts and gigs make a feeble show
of liveliness in the place, or on petty sessions when the magistrates
attend in what used to be the old cardroom. On the south side of the
market rises up the church with its great gray towers, of which the sun
illuminates the delicate carving, deepening the shadows of the huge
buttresses, and gilding the glittering windows and flaming vanes.... The
rectory is a stout broad-shouldered brick house of the reign of Anne. It
communicates with the church and market by different gates, and stands
at the opening of Yew Tree Lane,” etc. etc. These exquisite descriptions
of old-fashioned English country town scenes are introduced as being
among the most vivid in our language, and also as referring, it is
supposed, to the places under consideration.
[Illustration: CRAMPTON, NEAR SHREWSBURY.]
[Illustration: GOLDSMITH STREET, EXETER.]