THE TOWN OF THE TWO FORDS
An imaginative mind, anxious for exercise, might easily find a worse
pretext than the probable appearance of Tiverton at different epochs in
its history. Three monstrous fires--in 1598, 1612, and 1731--have
reduced the town to ashes, so that, despite its antiquity, it presents,
on the whole, an extremely modern aspect, which, as time goes on, tends
to become accentuated. Still certain buildings remain--not many, I
fear--from which, like Richard Owen in another sphere of palæontology,
the lover of the past may gather ideas for his reconstructive task. _Ex
pede Herculem._
Every stranger, on arriving at Tiverton, is at once struck by the
Greenway almhouses, with their quaint little chapel. These were
miraculously preserved in the earlier devastations, when, according to
contemporary notices, the fire “invironed those sillie cottages on every
side, burning other houses to the grounde which stood about them, and
yet had they no hurt at all.”[6] In the third welter of flame the
almhouses were less fortunate, and it is a singular fact that the only
life lost on this occasion--on the two previous there had been many
victims--was that of an inmate who obstinately refused to quit the
building, saying, “Who ever heard of an almshouse being burnt?” When, at
last, he was convinced of the peril of optimism, and he would fain have
made good his escape, it was too late--all egress was barred. Even in
this, however, there was something miraculous, for, though the
almshouses were burnt and transformed into fiery catacombs, the chapel
was inexplicably preserved, and remains to this day, with all its rich
ornaments and emblematical figures untouched. The inscriptions, however,
or, as Blackmore playfully expresses it, “the souls of John and Joan
Greenway” are not “set up in gold letters.” Had the name “Gold Street”
anything to do with this idea?
The founder of the almshouses was John Greenway, born about 1460, of
whom little is known that is authentic. Apparently of lowly origin, “by
ability and industry he acquired an ample income” as a merchant. So says
Harding, but it is seldom that ample incomes are acquired by brains and
diligence alone. The stroke of luck may almost always be charged as a
contributory factor. If legend may be believed, Greenway was positively
inspired to wealth-making. A simple weaver, young and without prospects,
he dreamed a dream which was thrice repeated. Each time a mysterious
voice admonished him to proceed to London town, and there, on London
Bridge, to await a cavalier on a white nag, who would have a message for
him. The sanguine youth obeyed these supernatural instructions; and,
taking his stand on the appointed spot, was accosted by an unknown
horseman, by whom he was told to return forthwith to Tiverton and dig in
a certain quarter. Again Greenway obeyed, and was rewarded by the
discovery of a crock or pot of gold, which, as his initial capital,
enabled him to launch out into business, and ultimately to found these
almshouses in 1517. There is a notion that amidst the exterior carvings
of St Peter’s Church, where Greenway built him a lovely chantry with
wagon roof and Renaissance door, is sculptured the crock of plenty, but
hitherto--owing perhaps to _embarras de richesse_--it has escaped
detection.
Now the embellishments of Greenway’s two chapels deserve close
attention, not only on account of their beauty, but for other reasons
that will immediately appear. Greenway is represented by his arms (_a
chevron between 3 covered cups, on a chief 3 sheep’s heads erased_), his
staple-mark, and his cipher, which are figured on shields inserted in
the quatrefoil of the cornices of the chapel in Gold Street and its
porch; and by the following rhyme inscribed in bold letters under the
main cornice:--
“Have grace, ye men, and ever pray
For the sowl of John and Jone Grenway.”
These marks of parentage are merely what one would expect, but the walls
have other symbolism, some of which demands comment. In two compartments
of the upper cornice are to be found the arms of Courtenay and an eagle
rising from a bundle of sticks. These devices are repeated on a larger
scale over the archway, with the addition of the arms of England. The
eagle montant, to borrow a term from falconry, is understood to typify
the mythical phœnix, and may be regarded as alluding to the
vicissitudes of that illustrious and ever-resurgent family.
The arms of England present no difficulty. They are to be explained by
the marriage of William Courtenay, 10th Earl of Devon, with Katherine,
youngest daughter of Edward IV., her elder sister Elizabeth being the
consort of Henry VII. Miss Strickland, by the way, records a quaint
incident in connection with a tournament held at the wedding of Prince
Arthur, when “Lord William Courtenay (brother-in-law of the Queen) made
his appearance riding on a red dragon led by a giant with a large tree
in his hand.” What time the almshouses were building Katherine de
Courtenay was actually resident at Tiverton Castle, and she was buried,
in 1527, with immense pomp in the Earl of Devonshire’s chapel, which was
destroyed by the Puritans, and is believed to have stood on the north
side of the chancel in St Peter’s Church. In her honour was erected that
large achievement in the centre of the porch, consisting of Courtenay
and Rivers quarterly, impaling quarterly, 1st France and England
quarterly, 2nd and 3rd Burgh, 4th Mortimer. It is surmounted with the
Courtenay badge before-mentioned, and the supporters are St George and a
woman.
It would be incompatible with the limits of this work to enter upon a
minute description of all the charming imagery of this beauteous
chantry. Much of it speaks for itself, but it may be as well to put the
reader on his guard against a false blazoning of one of the coats of
arms, which displays what looks suspiciously like a tiara. It may
possibly be permissible to use the term, but subject to the
understanding that we have here nothing to do with any papal insignia.
_The three clouds radiated in base, each surmounted with a triple
crown_, are for the Drapers’ Company; just as the _Barry nebulée_; _a
chief quarterly, on the 1st and 4th a lion passant guardant, on the 2nd
and 3rd two roses_, are for the Merchant Venturers of London. Attention
may also be drawn to a series of sermons in stones, or small sculptures
illustrating the chief events in the life of our Lord; on account of the
height at which they are ranged, they might easily be passed unnoticed.
Viewing the decorations generally, we cannot but observe that the place
of honour is assigned to the Courtenays; and, probably on the strength
of this fact, Harding speaks of the Marquis of Exeter as Greenway’s
great patron. In this he may be mistaken, since, on the death of her
husband, the Lady Katherine succeeded to the manor of Tiverton, and
doubtless exerted much influence in the town and county during the
sixteen years of her widowhood. This brings us to the stately home in
which, more than anywhere else, those sorrowful years were spent.
Due north of St Peter’s churchyard, from which only a wall parts them,
are the precincts of Tiverton Castle whereof there exist somewhat
extensive remains in varying degrees of preservation. This was for
several centuries one of the chief residences of the Courtenays, and in
the Middle Ages was a strong place of arms. On the west is a precipice,
which runs down sixty feet sheer to the River Exe and secured the
castle on that side; in other directions it had towers and turrets, and
ramparts and moats, and all that military science then knew in the way
of elaborate fortification. Two of the towers yet stand--a square and a
round, while the ivy-covered ruin, which is detached from the rest of
the buildings, at the south-west angle of the castle grounds, is
supposed to represent the oratory or chapel. From its position it was
evidently distinct from the Earl of Devonshire’s Chapel, mentioned
above, and must have been a private sanctuary reserved to the household.
The castle is stated to have been built by Richard de Redvers or Rivers,
who was an Earl of Devon in his time--about 1106; it came into the
possession of the Courtenays on the extinction of the Redvers family in
1274, when Hugh de Courtenay, great-grandson of Mary de Redvers,
succeeded to all their estates. His immediate predecessor was Isabella
de Fortibus, born Redvers, who is credited with the gift of an ample
stream of water known as the Town Lake, a section of which, enclosed
between paved banks, may be observed in Castle Street. She, of course,
was _not_ a Courtenay; and it is with these rather than with other
possessors of the castle that we are mainly concerned. As, with brief
intervals, they were the ruling element in the town for a period of
three centuries, it is natural to inquire what manner of men were those
great lords, and how it went with the neighbourhood when they were
uppermost.
With their emblems around us, and with the odour of sanctity investing
the places where those emblems appear, there is a palpable danger of
attributing to the Courtenays a larger measure of piety than is at all
their due. Of him who is called sometimes the Good, sometimes the Blind
Earl, no word of censure may be spoken; and as for the husband and
descendants of Katherine--William, Henry, Edward--their tragic fates
evoke that infinite compassion for which the blood of the innocent cries
always, and never in vain. Even the guilty Courtenays were not devoid of
redeeming qualities; they were stout warriors, and loyal to their king.
Yet two of the race, father and son, both of them named Thomas, were the
authors of a felon deed--a deed as black as any that soils the pages of
history, or swells the calendar of crime. To all appearance the plot was
hatched in Tiverton, and Tiverton yeomen were the willing, or unwilling,
instruments of the scandalous theft, the inhuman murder. The whole may
not be told here; let what follows suffice.
On Thursday, October 23, 1455, Nicholas Radford, sometime “steward” of
the Earl of Devon, now an old man and a justice, was dwelling in God’s
peace and the king’s in his own place at Upcott, in the parish of
Cheriton Fitzpaine. The same day and year came Sir Thomas Courtenay,
eldest son of the earl, with a body of retainers to the number of
ninety-four, armed with jacks, sallets, bows, arrows, swords, bucklers,
etc., who beset the house at midnight, and with a great shout fired the
gates. Naturally at that hour Radford, his wife, and his servants, were
in bed, but awakened by the sudden commotion, the good old man opened
his window, and demanded whether there were among them any gentlemen.
“Here is Sir Thomas Courtenay,” answered one of the yeoman; and almost
at the same moment the knight called out to him, “Come down and speak
with me.”
The old man, however, would not comply, until Courtenay swore as a true
knight and gentleman, that neither his person nor his property should be
molested. Relying on this promise Radford descended with a lighted torch
and ordered the gates to be thrown open, whereupon, much to his alarm,
the rabble of followers began to stream in. The knight reassured him,
and standing by his cupboard, condescended to drink of his wine. Whilst
Courtenay held the master of the house with tales, his men plundered the
mansion of its treasures. Money and bedding, and furs, and books, the
ornaments of his chapel and the like--they carried them all away on
Radford’s own horse, and did not spare even his sick wife, but rolling
her out of bed, took away the sheets she was lying in.
Sir Thomas now said to the justice, “Have done, Radford, for thou must
need go with me to my lord my father.” The old man expressed his
readiness, and bade his servant saddle a horse, only to receive the
reply that his horse had been removed and laden with his own goods.
Hearing this, Radford said to his visitor,
“Sir, I am aged, and may not well go upon my feet, and therefore I pray
you that I may ride.”
“No force (odds), Radford,” was the answer, “thou shalt ride enough
anon, and therefore come on with me.”
Accordingly they went on together about a stone’s throw, when Sir
Thomas, having secretly conferred with three of his men--two of them
Tiverton yeomen--set spurs to his horse and rode on his way, exclaiming,
“Farewell Radford!”
In a trice Nicholas Philip slashed the old justice across the face with
his sword, and as he lay on the ground, dealt him another stroke, which
caused the brain to drop out from the back of his head. His brother,
Thomas Philip, cut the victim’s throat with a knife, while the third
man, with surely supererogatory caution, pierced him through the back
with a long dagger. Thus was Nicholas Radford feloniously and horribly
slain and murdered.
As an aggravation of the crime, on the following Tuesday the old man’s
godson, Henry Courtenay, with certain of the ruffians, arrived at
Upcott, where the body of Radford lay in his chapel, and opened a mock
inquest. One of them, Richard Bertelot, sat as coroner, and the
murderers were summoned by strange names. They answered, “scornfully
appearing,” made what presentment they chose, and gave out that they
should accuse Radford of his own death. They then compelled his servants
to carry the body to the church of Cheriton Fitzpaine, John Brymoor,
_alias_ Robyns, a singer, leading the way with derisive songs and
catches, as it was borne along.
Gaining the churchyard, they took the murdered man out of his coffin,
rolled him out of his winding-sheet, and cast him all naked into the
grave, where they threw upon his head and body sundry stones that
Radford had provided for the making of his tomb, crushing them. They had
no more pity or compassion for him than for a Jew or a Saracen.
It seems that in January of this year the justice had sold a good deal
of land, including the manors of Calverleigh, Poughill, and Ford, for
£400, and this large sum in cash is believed to have been the incentive
of the murder. The Earl of Devon, who was no doubt accessory before the
fact, speedily prepared an expedition to Exeter in order to obtain
possession of such goods and chattels as Radford had lodged with the
Dean and Chapter; and in November, he and his son Thomas assembled an
armed retinue of a thousand or more at Tiverton, and marched to the
city. We need not follow their proceedings there--they were
outrageous--and, as signalising the barbarous character of the age, be
content to note that neither the Earl nor his son received the penalty
they deserved. Providence, however, suffered neither of them to escape.
The Earl was poisoned at Abingdon, and his son and successor beheaded at
York, after being taken prisoner at the battle of Wakefield, 1461.
The subsequent history of the castle must be traced briefly. After
passing through various hands, it was purchased by Roger Giffard, fifth
son of Sir Roger Giffard, of Brightleigh, in the parish of
Chittlehampton, who pulled down the greater part of the buildings, and
named it “Giffard’s Court.” Nevertheless, it was in a condition to repel
an attack by the Parliamentarian forces under Massey in October 1645,
though two days later it was stormed by Sir Thomas Fairfax at the head
of an army outnumbering the somewhat disaffected garrison by thirty to
one. The owner of the castle was then Roger Giffard, grandson of the
first-named Roger, and despite the fact that the defence of the place
was entrusted to Sir Gilbert Talbot, as military governor, there is no
reason to suppose that Giffard was an absentee. Like his more famous
kinsman, Colonel John Giffard, of Brightleigh, Roger was a devoted
Royalist, and is mentioned among those persons who were fined for their
loyalty. Blackmore’s reference to bales of wool used in the defence is
strictly historical (see _Lorna Doone_, chapter xi.).
The modern house was built in 1700 for Peter West, who came of an old
Tiverton mercantile stock connected with the Blundells. In 1594 John
West had married Edy, daughter of James Blundell, and niece of Peter
Blundell and his sister Elinor, wife of John Chilcott, of Fairby, and
mother of Robert Chilcott, the founder of Chilcott’s School, which
stands at the lower end of St Peter Street, and, with its mullioned and
transomed windows, its handsome archway, and solid, iron-studded, black
oak door, forms an interesting specimen of Jacobean architecture. Peter
West’s daughter Dorothy took for her bridegroom Sir Thomas Carew, of
Haccombe, and thus manor and castle passed into the possession of the
distinguished family which still owns them.
We have enjoyed many opportunities of estimating the wealth and
importance of the “woollen” merchants of Tiverton; but, if anything yet
lack, the reader may station himself before the great House of St
George, nearly opposite Chilcott’s School, and consider it at his
leisure. This seemly residence, with its garden close, was built
apparently by George Skinner, merchant, whose initials were formerly to
be seen on the northern termination of the hood-mould. On the southern
termination is the date 1612--the date of the second great fire. As the
house is thoroughly Jacobean in style, it is natural to conclude that it
is in all essentials the identical structure erected in that memorable
year, but the confused account in Harding’s _History of Tiverton_
contains documentary evidence showing that it was “demolished and
consumed by reason of the late unhappy wars” (_i.e._, the Civil War),
and suggests that the “messuage” was rebuilt at various periods, from
1541 onwards. I shall not attempt to unravel the mystery, but content
myself with observing that, beyond any question, the building has been
altered, and that within living memory. Once, and for long, it rejoiced
in another storey, but modern wisdom having determined that the edifice
was “top-heavy,” the upper portion was removed.
About the year 1740 the manufacture of serges, druggets, drapeens, and
the like began to decline, and, later, the effects of the American
Revolution were severely felt in the town. In 1790, however, there were
still a thousand looms and two hundred woolcombers in the neighbourhood.
Then came the great war with France, which almost paralysed the local
firms; and on its cessation the Tiverton manufacturers vainly
endeavoured to restore old connections with the Continent. It was plain
that the ancient trade
[Illustration: CHAPEL, GREENWAY’S ALMSHOUSES, TIVERTON (page 61).]
in wool, on which so many depended, was in its last throes. The end was
sudden and dramatic. One morning, when the workpeople were at breakfast,
the inhabitants of Westexe were startled by the loud report of a gun,
and the news soon spread that Mr Armitage, the manager of a large mill,
which had been built in 1790, and in which, as in a last refuge, the
remains of the staple industry were concentrated, had shot himself in
the counting-house.
The ruin of the place now seemed certain. Happily, however, the
following year (1815), Messrs Heathcoat, Boden, and Oliver purchased the
mill, and by extensive additions, converted it into an immense lace
factory. In 1809 they had obtained a fourteen years’ patent for a
greatly improved bobbin-net machine, of which Mr Heathcoat was the
inventor, and erected a factory at Loughborough. The firm removed to
Tiverton in consequence of the injury done to the machines by the
Luddites, and thither a number of their men accompanied them. Some of
the Leicestershire “hands,” about the year 1820, had a dispute with Mr
Heathcoat, who had become sole proprietor of the factory, and, this
having ended in their discharge or voluntary retirement from his
service, they determined to set up an opposition concern. It is believed
that the artisans had machines of their own brought down along with
those of Mr Heathcoat and installed in the mill under some arrangement
with him. Anyhow, they resolved to start lace-making on their own
account.
Money, of course, had to be provided, and this to a limited amount--very
limited for such a venture--was found them by a physician of the town
named Houston, whilst premises were secured behind, or near what is now
the Golden Lion Inn, Westexe. Here the quixotic scheme was launched, and
here it came to an inglorious end, after a futile imitation of the frog
in the fable. The credulous doctor, who lived in a house, now a
saddler’s shop, next the “White Ball,” and whose backyard abutted on the
infant factory, lost what he had lent, and no doubt learnt a lesson.
Hardly more felicitous was Mr George Cosway’s attempt to resuscitate the
woollen industry. Mr Cosway “took up arms against a sea of troubles”;
his capital was none too large, and in the face of powerful competition
in other parts of the country, his factory in Broadlane was never a
conspicuous success. On his death it was closed, and that finally. Mr
Cosway belonged to the same family as the famous miniaturist, one of
whose larger paintings, designed for an altar-piece, hangs on the north
wall of St Peter’s Church. The subject is “St Peter delivered by an
Angel,” and the picture was Richard Cosway’s gift to the town of which
he was a native. The larger painting on the other side of the vestry
door, the subject of which is “The Adoration of the Magi,” is a very
fine work by Gaspar de Crayer, and an almost exact reproduction of a
picture by Rubens in the Antwerp gallery.
It would be improper, I suppose, to refer to Tiverton without mentioning
Lord Palmerston, whose Parliamentary connection with the borough
extended from 1835 to 1865--just thirty years. As an Irishman, the
popular statesman must have been perfectly at home in the town, which is
always lively at election times, and during his early acquaintance with
it, had an unenviable reputation as a rival to Donnybrook Fair. Most of
the inhabitants had their chosen inn, the tradesmen being accommodated
in the parlour, the artisans in the bar, and the labourers in the
kitchen; and the consumption of beer and spirits almost exceeds belief.
One would make ten glasses of grog his nightly quantum, another was not
content with fewer than eighteen, while a third drank gin and water by
the bucketful. Every now and then women would have a fight in the
streets. A ring would be formed, whereupon the trulls grappled with each
other, and with their long hair streaming down their backs, and blood
down their faces, presented a pitiful and degrading spectacle. Things
are better now.
Speaking of the Tiverton inns reminds me that John Ridd and Fry lodged,
on the eve of their departure, at the “White Horse,” in Gold Street.
This tavern is still in existence, and as it is not specially
picturesque, the reader may be at a loss to conceive why Blackmore
should have selected this particular house of entertainment. The
novelist, however, knew what he was about. In the seventeenth century it
may have been the most important inn in the town. On the entry of the
Royalists into the town in the month of August, 1643, they were stoned
by the mob, many of whom were killed or wounded by the fire of the
soldiers; “and,” says Harding, in recounting the circumstance, “the
effect produced was a dispersion of the remainder, when one, John Lock,
a miller, was taken and executed at the sign of the White Horse, on the
north side of Gold Street” (_History of Tiverton_, vol. i., p. 58).