to that of Stadon, situate a mile and a quarter south-east from Buxton.
Its stones, like those of its neighbour, the Bull Ring, have been
confiscated, and for centuries, perhaps, it yielded to the plough;
nevertheless, its mounds, though almost levelled, are quite distinct,
and disclose a plan probably unique in its design. It comprises an
annular vallum, forming three-quarters of a circle, the fourth quarter
being straight-sided for one hundred feet, and from the corners of this
side expand two straight causeways or mounds for a distance of about
one hundred and, presumably, one hundred and twenty feet respectively,
when they then turn at an acute angle and unite in a straight line, of
probably one hundred and twenty feet, almost parallel to the side of
the circle. Thus they form the base of an isosceles triangle, bisected
horizontally by the straight side of the circle. Unfortunately, the
south-west corner of the base line is now cut off by the London and
North Western Railway line from Buxton to Ashbourne, and therefore its
measurements can only be estimated. If continued, the apex of this
triangle would correspond with the nearest quarter of the horizon,
namely, on the ridge of Stadon Hill at a point nearly due east. On
the inside of the mounds, both of the circle and of the triangular
adjunct, are indications of a ditch, and the usual entrances are north
by west and south-east respectively. The average width of the circle
from the outside of the mounds is now two hundred feet, but owing to
the straight side it is subjected to more than the usual elliptical
variation; the width of the mounds and ditch are twelve and ten feet
respectively. These latter dimensions probably indicate that originally
it must have had a fosse and vallum of no mean importance. One hundred
and twenty feet north-by-east from the circle seems to be the base
of what was probably a large mound or “pointer,” about forty feet by
twenty feet, but this also has been levelled.
Although lacking the grandeur of Arbor Low, the small circles have
an interest only secondary to it in any attempt to determine cause
from effect. Many of them, fortunately, have suffered from the hand
of time alone, and are to-day as the race that is gone left them. No
better examples could be desired than some in the Baslow district,
particularly that near Park Gate; but those by the Bar Brook and on
Froggatt Edge are nearly as well preserved, and the double circle at
Ford is perfect.
Selecting the Nine Ladies on Stanton Moor as a typical example, its
description will suffice for its class. A circular vallum ten feet wide
and two feet high at the crest, with diameter varying from forty-five
to fifty feet, measured from its outer edge, and broken for the
usual entrances, which, however, in this instance are east-by-north
and south-west. Within the inner margin of the mound are arranged
nine stones, all, with one exception, still upright, and the largest
measuring, above the heather, three feet high, two feet three inches
broad, and nine inches deep. In 1848 there was a cone of stones in the
centre, but this has been destroyed; the Park Gate circle, however,
shows this in a complete form. Exactly at a distance of one hundred
feet west by south of the circle stands a single stone as the pointer,
measuring above the turf thirty inches high, twenty-two wide, and
eleven deep. It is known as “The King Stone,” and the nine stones of
the circle have given the name of “The Nine Ladies” to the monument as
a whole. This is, of course, a complimentary variant of the general
term “maidens” so often applied to the stones of circles in all parts
of the country, and for which so many derivations have been offered.
A circle of this class which has hitherto escaped observation has
an interesting deviation from the usual lines. It stands 1,050 feet
above sea level on the hillside at Cadster, near Whaley Bridge, but
in Chapel-en-le-Frith parish. Its vallum has an elliptical diameter,
varying from thirty-five to forty feet, with entrances north-north-east
and south-west. The stones are of the same arrangement and size as
those of The Nine Ladies, and the diameter of their circle varies from
thirty feet to thirty-three feet six inches. The centre is nearly
level, but some large stones below the turf may have supported a
monolith, which, perhaps, was a large pointed stone, measuring four
feet long, two feet six inches wide, and one foot deep, now lying at
the foot of the vallum. Ninety feet nearly south by west of the circle,
almost prostrate, is the “pointer,” a block of millstone grit measuring
three feet six inches high, two feet six inches broad, and two feet
deep. In these particulars the monument closely resembles the last
described, but it lies on a hillside with a declination to the west of
one in ten, and to obtain the required plane for the western vallum and
stones, the builders have lowered the height of the vallum on the east
to about one foot high, and raised that on the west to four feet. Hence
it is nearly, but not quite, level. Although there is a very extensive
view to the north-west, the horizon is within two or three hundred
yards on the north and east. A line of sight taken over the stones
west and east within the circle exactly touches the eastern horizon,
where there is a small artificial mound of stones, and this system of
levelling the vallum and stones of a circle to the plane of the horizon
seems to be general, and is especially in evidence at Ford.
For the purpose of these notes, and to ascertain that the vallum had
not been raised by an interment, a partial excavation has been made. A
narrow trench cut from east to west disclosed that the entire monument
is composed of loose stones, seemingly hand-laid, upon the natural
soil. On the west side the raising of the vallum was an example of
careful and permanent work. Commencing from the outside there was a
foundation of large stones sloping inwards, and acting as a retaining
wall for the stones above, and a similar foundation marked the inside
margin. In the centre of the vallum was a core of stones about two
feet high leaning towards each other, and filled in with horizontal
stones, thus forming the base of a solid triangle. Above this the loose
stones were built up to the required height and form. An examination
of some of the principal stones of the circle disclosed that they
were supported by or resting upon others of large size. As it was not
desirable to disturb more than was necessary to disclose the general
construction, and to remove turf which had overgrown some of the
pillars, a very small proportion of the whole was searched, and this
did not yield a single relic of the work of man.
So far, we have dealt with the effect of circles as we see them; let us
look to the cause. Imagine an agricultural people without any knowledge
of the seasons or months of the year, save from the gradual changes
from cold to warm weather, and from long to short days; without the
means of estimating the length of the latter, and without even the
power of numbering the years or knowing whether they themselves were
young or old, for except, perhaps, in the calm pools of water, their
very appearance would be strange to them. A few treacherously warm days
in December, and they would sow their corn to the winds. Preparation
for winter needs or summer work would be impossible, and all would
end in famine and waste—all would be confusion. No wonder that, like
nature, they turned to the sun—the almanac of all time. No wonder their
chief astronomer became the chief priest of the tribe. So is it to-day
with uncivilized races of mankind. So, also, is the superstition of
astrology in civilized races but a survival of the days when the seer
alone cast his horoscope and foretold to the people the coming of the
seasons, the time for preparation and all that was necessary for their
continued existence. Sun worship followed, and religion and astronomy
were blended for ages to come.
Sir Norman Lockyer and the late Mr. Penrose have scientifically
demonstrated the relation of Stonehenge with the rising of the sun
over the Friar’s Heel at the summer solstice, where tradition still
gathers people together on the morn of Midsummer day; but it is with
the more primitive and varied circles of our hilly county that we are
concerned, and these may be treated, as indeed they probably were by
their designers, in a more primitive method.
We read a sundial from the outside, and therefore the gnomon is in the
centre and the numerals are on the outside. If, however, we stood in
the centre of a vast dial, a series of gnomons would be required to
replace the numerals. This is the stone circle. As a primitive example,
the Cadster circle will suffice for its class. When the circle was
constructed, the “pointer,” instead of being a point to the west of
south as it is now, a variation owing to the obliquity of the earth’s
axis, stood exactly due south; therefore the seer, sighting from the
point of the central monolith, knew that when the sun was directly over
it the time was mid-day—the greater distance assisting the accuracy.
Similarly the east stone is now a point to the southward, so when the
sun rose over the horizon in line with it and the central monolith, it
was the May festival, and so on for every phase of the sun. Obviously,
the northern stones would be useless for this purpose; but the object
of the vallum was to enable the line of sight to be also taken across
the circle from the outside, and over _any_ stone and the central
dial, or over any two stones, thus subdividing the then equivalent to
the hours and the months. The slope of the vallum lent itself to any
level required by the observer whilst taking his observations, and the
entrances enabled the people to pass through the circle to make their
obeisance, whilst the arch-astrologer stood by the central monolith
giving his instructions and advice. To them his simple predictions
would seem to be the greatest of miracles. As the “pointer” is not
always in a southerly or northerly position, for the latter would
serve the same purpose if the point of observation were transposed,
it follows that various monuments were dedicated to or were specially
required for various seasons or times; the winter or summer solstice
and the spring or autumn equinox being the most popular. The points of
the stones would be accurately notched or, perhaps, surmounted with a
wooden stile or pierced disc.
In the larger circles the same system would be carried out with greater
accuracy. The ditch and vallum enabled the sights to be taken from
either the foot or the top of the stones, and the mound would, if
required, itself form the horizon. The ditch was certainly not for any
processional ceremony, for that at Arbor Low was found to be broken
across by faces of natural rock three or four feet in height; but
the curved causeway leading towards the great pointer, Gib Hill, may
have served that purpose when the seer left the circle to take his
observations, and probably to invoke the rising sun from the mound. The
central dolmen would be the inner temple of the priest, and the greater
distance of the circle of stones would increase the accuracy of his
observations.
Let those who question this simple origin for these circles study any
one of them with as many or as few scientific instruments as they wish;
then, after allowing for the variation of the obliquity, nature’s
almanac is there to be read within the oldest astronomical observatory
known to man.
A word as to the age of the circles. Sir Norman Lockyer deduced from
the variation of the obliquity in relation to the avenue and the
Friar’s Heel at Stonehenge, that the temple must have been erected
about the year 1680 B.C., or within a margin of 200 years of that date.
Professor Gowland, as the result of the excavations conducted by him
in 1901, arrived at practically the same period, when he inferred that
it was constructed by “the men of the Neolithic or, it may be, of the
early Bronze Age.”
The assumption in these pages is that Stonehenge was the first and not
the last of its series. If that be correct, it follows that the design
must have been introduced by the new race, that of the Bronze Age,
when they invaded this country from the south. The Neolithic tribes had
been here for thousands of years before B.C. 1500, and it is unlikely
that they, to whom metal was unknown, attained the architectural
skill to erect a colossal and uniform temple. It is true that with
one possible exception no trace of metal was found during the recent
excavations at either Stonehenge or Arbor Low; but on the other hand,
all the interments (with again one exception, and that of late date)
found in circles are of the Bronze Age. These interments, of which one
instance was in a small circle on Stanton Moor, do not necessarily
indicate any sepulchral purpose for these monuments, but rather suggest
that sometimes the priest himself would be laid to rest in the shrine
of his order. Again, the general character of the numerous tumuli
usually surrounding the momuments is of the Bronze period, and there
seems to be some affinity between the “cup and ring” designs of the
rock carvings and the plan of these circles. One fact is certain—that
as a class they are not of any later times, for upon the vallum of
Arbor Low stands the great “low” which yielded clear evidence of a
burial of one who worked with bronze, and similar proof was furnished
by the discovery of a like interment in the summit of Gib Hill.
It does not, however, follow that our Derbyshire circles date from
the commencement of the Bronze Age; it is more probable that some of
them are hundreds of years later than Stonehenge, and there is every
likelihood that their use was continued through the Roman even to early
Christian times, only to be stamped out when their original purpose
had been forgotten in their mystic pagan rites. There is evidence that
the great circles of the country were centres of native population at
the time of the coming of the Romans, for the roads of the invaders
were driven straight for them, as the maps of Avebury and Stonehenge in
the south, and of Arbor Low and the Bull Ring in our county, clearly
indicate. In the Anglo-Saxon language the phrase for astrology was
_circol-crœft_, and to-day the horoscope of the fortune-teller is but a
survival of our subject.
We who look upon these temples of a bye-gone people are still the
slaves of Time, and though we measure it with the science of to-day,
it is but a question of degree, for the cause and effect is still the
same. True, we no longer worship in the Temple of Time, but we can ill
afford to sneer at those who knew no better religion than the praise of
the heavenly bodies and the admiration of nature’s handiwork as viewed
over the distant scene. Nor can we pride ourselves in our science,
which for centuries has failed to read the story of these mystic signs,
which the rude workers in bronze could yet devise and set up, to—
“Observe days, and months, and times, and years.”
SWARKESTON BRIDGE
By William Smithard
The deservedly famous old bridge of Swarkeston situated a few miles
south of Derby, where in a beautiful verdant and fertile vale the noble
Trent sweeps towards the sea in a series of majestic curves.
The river, than which there are but two longer in the country, was of
old a convenient rough-and-ready dividing-line across the middle of
England; and the frequency with which the phrases “north of Trent” and
“south of Trent” were used, shows that the stream was a recognised and
familiar boundary to the monarchs and nobles who parcelled out shires
and counties for themselves or friends in the Middle Ages.
Its general direction is from west to east, but its course is made up
of large bends composed of small ones. In the first part of _King Henry
IV._, Act III., Scene I., Shakespeare makes Hotspur complain of the
windings of the Trent, thus:—
“Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here,
In quantity equals not one of yours:
See how the river comes me cranking in,
And cuts me from the best of all my land
A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out.
I’ll have the current in this place damm’d up;
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run
In a new channel, fair and evenly.”
It is not known where or how, if at all, the Romans permanently bridged
the Trent hereabouts; probably they were content with fords and
ferries. In the Middle Ages, however, several fine stone bridges were
erected over the river; there was a very long one of thirty-six arches
at Burton in the twelfth century, and most likely there would then be
no other between that town and Nottingham, some twenty miles distant.
At any rate, the first record we have of Swarkeston Bridge is in the
year 1276, and the oldest parts of it remaining—which appear to be the
original work—appertain to the thirteenth century.
Swarkeston is about eight miles below Burton, and the bridge, which
is nearly a mile in length, lies north and south. It takes its name
from the village of Swarkeston at its northern end, though most of the
bridge, being south of the Trent, is in the parish of Stanton, which
latter place is indebted to the bridge for the title that distinguishes
it from the multitude of Stantons elsewhere.
The portion of the structure which actually spans the Trent is a
shapely, well-designed and very substantial modern bridge on five round
arches, put up at the close of the eighteenth century; but the special
feature about Swarkeston Bridge is that, after crossing the river
proper, it is continued as a raised causeway right across the low-lying
meadows of the Trent valley. It is in this long causeway that all
interest centres, for there—although the bridge has been widened, and
at different times repaired and renewed incongruously—we have the true
route-line of the causeway, and much original work still remaining.
The necessity for this extension is very obvious to anyone who has
seen, as I have several times, the river in flood, when Hotspur’s
“smug and silver Trent” becomes a turbid, surging sea, many miles in
extent, completely covering all the meadows within range of vision.
The causeway is provided with culverts and archways to let the roaring
waters pass through at such periods.
[Illustration: Swarkeston Bridge.]
It has been conjectured, with some degree of probability, that the
Trent was first spanned by a bridge at Swarkeston to accommodate the
advance of King John’s army to the north towards the end of the year
1215. If this was the case, it must have been one of wooden piles,
provided it was erected in a hurry. A temporary erection of this kind,
in the place of a treacherous ford, would prove so useful that it would
soon be followed by one of stone. At all events, records show that a
bridge had been established here a long time before the accession of
Edward I. In 1276, when inquiries were made throughout the kingdom as
to exactions and irregularities during the much-troubled latter years
of Henry III., it is entered on the _Hundred Rolls_ that the merchants
of the soke of Melbourne had not for some three years paid toll for
passage over Swarkeston Bridge, which toll had been assigned by the
King to the borough of Derby.
Now and again, during the next century, apparently whenever the bridge
needed serious repair, the Crown diverted the toll from the town of
Derby and assigned it to local commissioners, as entered from time to
time on the _Patent Rolls_. On 12th January, 1325, when Edward II. was
at Melbourne, he granted, under privy seal to the bailiffs and good men
of the town of Swarkeston pontage (bridge toll) for three years for the
repair of the bridge across the Trent; the toll was to be taken by the
hands of William Grave, of Swarkeston, Richard de Swarkeston, Thomas
Davy, of Stanton, or their deputy, and the whole proceedings were to be
under the supervision of the Prior of Repton.
Before this time of three years had expired, namely, in December,
1327, Edward III., at the request of Robert de Stanton, granted to the
bailiffs and men of Stanton and Swarkeston pontage towards the repair
of the bridge between the two towns—it must have been considerably
damaged, possibly of set purpose during the baronial disturbances
towards the end of Edward II.’s reign—local commissioners being
nominated to receive the toll, and the Prior of Repton being again
appointed as supervisor.
In 1338 pontage for four years was again assigned for repair purposes
to the good men of Swarkeston. Eight years later the pontage was
granted for three years to the bailiffs and good men of the town of
Derby, to be taken by the hands of John, son of Adam de Melbourne the
elder, and John, son of Adam de Melbourne the younger, on things for
sale passing over Swarkeston Bridge, for the repair of the said bridge.
There is little more written history of the bridge than that here
cited, but it would not be right to omit the romantic legend as to its
origin, which is so widely current and so generally believed that it is
perhaps worthy of a qualified acceptance until some historical fact is
found to take its place. The legend bears the stamp of probability, and
it seems too good to be entirely an invention—at any rate, of modern
times.
Once upon a time, then, according to this dateless tradition, a large
and gay party was celebrating at Swarkeston Hall the betrothal of the
two daughters of the lord of the manor. Tilting, hunting, hawking,
and other mediæval sports had been enjoyed freely for several days,
when the festivities were abruptly disturbed by an urgent summons
for the lord of the manor and the two knightly lovers forthwith to
join an assembly of the barons who were engaged in a hot dispute
with a tyrannical King. Never, perhaps, did public spirit clash more
disagreeably with personal preference; but the call of national duty
was promptly answered.
At that time there was no Swarkeston Bridge, but in fair weather the
Trent could be forded quite easily, as it can now. I have, in a recent
summer, seen a foal walk across without wetting its knees; but the
route is devious, and the river at Swarkeston notoriously treacherous;
bright weedy shallows give way precipitately to great dark pools
difficult to fathom, and eddying whirlpools alternate with powerful
headlong currents of surprising swiftness.
Their task accomplished, runs the tale, the two knights set off for
Swarkeston at full speed, leaving the earl to return more leisurely
with his esquires and pages. In the meantime heavy rains had fallen,
and on reaching the Trent valley after sunset, the knights found the
green sward covered by surging muddy waters, through which, with true
lover-like ardour, they spurred their tired horses in the growing
darkness, unwilling, now so near, to let even such alarming floods
prevent their reunion with the fair ladies of their choice.
The level meadows were crossed safely, but in the gloom the gallant
knights either missed the ford across the river itself or were swept
off it by the raging torrent; by the cruellest of mischances they
were washed away and drowned within sight of the lighted windows of
the hall, where all their hopes lay, and which they had striven so
heroically to reach.
This tragic event was indeed a crushing blow for the earl and his
family, but out of private grief came public joy. The bereaved ladies,
so says the legend, looked on themselves as widows, and, in keeping
with the spirit of the times, devoted the rest of their lives to the
memory of their deceased lovers. Neither was their devotion mere
sentiment, but it took a thoroughly practical form; determined that no
one in future should suffer owing to the circumstances in which their
own keen sorrow had arisen, they devoted all their substance to the
building of the now historic bridge, and died in a cottage as poor as
the humblest peasant.
On the bridge there was formerly a chantry chapel. From an inquisition
held at Newark, October 26th, 1503, we learn that a parcel of meadow
land, valued at six marks a year, lying between the bridge and Ingleby,
had been given in early days to the priory of Repton, on the tenure of
supplying a priest to sing mass in the chapel on Swarkeston Bridge;
but that there was then no such priest nor had one been appointed for
the space of twenty years. (Add. MSS. 6,705, f. 65.)
The Church Goods Commissioners of 1552 say under Stanton:—
“We have a chappell edified and buylded upon Trent in ye mydest of
the streme anexed to Swerston bregge, the whiche had certayne stuffe
belongyng to it, ij desks to knele in, a table of wode, and certayne
barres of yron and glasse in the wyndos, whiche Mr. Edward Beamont
of Arleston hath taken away to his owne use, and we say that if the
Chappell dekeye the brydge wyll not Stonde.”
The report of the Commissioners shows that the chapel was evidently an
integral portion of one of the bridge piers, as was often the case, and
was probably coeval with its first building.
The chapel was demolished altogether when the spans over the river were
rebuilt in the eighteenth century, and there is now no trace of it
remaining, nor does there appear to be any drawing of the sacred place;
though, of course, anyone familiar with other such Gothic buildings can
easily picture for himself what this chapel would be like.
For six centuries has the bridge been a popular highway for all classes
of the community, and it is linked closely with at least two important
epochs in English history.