[26] See _Flight of the King_.
[27] _Hist., MSS. Com. Rep._ 7 App. p. 758.
HERE AND THERE IN SALOP
AND STAFFORDSHIRE
The important and ancient capital of Salop would indeed be insulted were
it called a "nook" or "corner." Could it so be named, we might be
allowed to let our enthusiasm run wild in this most delightful old town.
Shrewsbury and Tewkesbury are to our mind far more interesting than
Chester, which has so many imitation old houses to spoil the general
harmony. At Shrewsbury or Tewkesbury there are very few mock antiques,
and at every turn and corner there are ancient buildings to carry our
fancy back to the important historical events that have happened in
these places. One cannot but be thankful to the local authorities for
preserving the mediaeval aspect, and let us offer up a solemn prayer that
the electric tramway fiend may never be permitted to enter.
Chirk Castle is so close upon the boundaries of Salop that we may
include this corner of Denbighshire. It is the only border fortress of
Wales still inhabited, and is remarkably situated on an eminence high
above the grand old trees of the park, or rather forest, surrounding it.
It has stood many a siege, but its massive external walls look little
the worse for it. They are of immense thickness, and so wide that two
people abreast can walk upon the battlements. The huge round towers,
with deep-set windows and loopholes, have a very formidable appearance
as you climb the steep ascent from the picturesque vale beneath. It was
built by the powerful family of Mortimer early in the fourteenth
century. From the Mortimers and Beauchamps it came into the possession
of Henry VIII.'s natural son, the Duke of Richmond and Somerset, and to
Lord Seymour, brother of the Protector Somerset. Then the Earl of
Leicester owned it in Elizabeth's time, and eventually Sir Thomas
Myddelton, Lord Mayor in James I.'s reign. His son, Sir Thomas, fought
valiantly for the Parliamentary side, and in 1644 had to besiege his own
fortress. A letter from the governor, Sir John Watts, to Prince Rupert,
which still hangs in the great hall, describes how the owner "attempted
to worke into the castle with iron crowes and pickers under great
plancks and tables, which they had erected against the castle side for
their shelter: but my stones beate them off." In the following year
Charles I. slept there on two occasions; and it was here that he learned
the defeat of the great Montrose. After the king's execution, Sir
Thomas, like many others, began to show favour to the other side; and
the year before the Restoration he was mixed up in Sir George Booth's
Cheshire rising, and had to fortify his castle against General Lambert,
to whom he eventually surrendered. But the general did not depart until
he had disabled the fortress, and the damage done after the Restoration
took L30,000 to repair. It was Sir Hugh, the younger brother of the
first Sir Thomas Myddelton, who made the New River, which was opened on
Michaelmas Day, 1613. A share in 1633 was valued at L3, 4s. 2d., and in
1899 one was sold for L125,000!
[Illustration: SERVANT'S HALL, CHIRK CASTLE.]
The various apartments are ranged round a large quadrangle, parts of
which remind one somewhat of Haddon. On one side is the great hall, and
opposite the servants' hall. The former, with its minstrels' gallery,
heraldic glass, and ancient furniture, is full of interest. The walls
are hung with various pieces of armour, and weapons, and a Cavalier
drum, saddle, and hat, the latter with its leather travelling case,
which is probably unique. There is a gorgeous coloured pedigree to the
first Sir Thomas Myddelton, recording ancestors centuries before, though
perhaps not quite so far back as the pedigree in the long gallery at
Hatfield, which is said to go back to Adam.
[Illustration: SERVANTS' HALL, CHIRK CASTLE.]
The servants' hall is a delightful old room, with long black oak tables
and settles, those against the wall being fixtures to the panelling.
There is a raised dais, and a seat of state to make distinction at the
board. There are queer old portraits of ancient retainers, one the
bellman who used to ring the great bell in the corner turret of the
quadrangle, and another very jolly looking porter, who has his eye on an
antique beer barrel perched on wheels in a corner of the room. This
apparatus has done good service in its day, as have the great pewter
dishes and copper jugs. Above the wide open fireplace are the Myddelton
arms. The servants' hall was an orderly apartment:
"No noise nor strife nor swear at all,
But all be decent in the Hall,"
is written up for everybody to see, with the following rules:--That
every servant must take off his hat at entering; and sit in his proper
place, and drink in his turn, and refrain from telling tales or speaking
disrespectfully, and various other things, which misdeeds were to be
punished in the first instance by the offender being deprived of his
allowance of beer; for the second offence, three days' beer; and the
third, a week.
The castle is rich in portraits, especially by Lely and Kneller, many of
which hang in the oak gallery, which extends the whole length of the
eastern wing; and there are several fine oak cabinets, one of which, of
ebony and tortoise-shell with silver chasings, was given to the third
Sir Thomas Myddelton by the Merry Monarch.
The wrought-iron entrance gates of very elaborate workmanship were made
in 1719 by the local blacksmith.
At the ancient seat of the Trevors, Brynkinalt, nearer to Chirk village,
are some interesting portraits of the Stuart period, notably of Charles
II.; James, Duke of York; Nell Gwyn, the Duchess of Portsmouth, and
Barbara Villiers.
Chirk village is insignificant, but has a fine church in which are some
interesting monuments, notably that of the gallant knight who besieged
his own castle as before described. He and his second wife are
represented in marble busts. It was their son Charles who married the
famous beauty of Charles II.'s reign; she was the daughter of Sir Robert
Needham, and her younger sister, Eleanor, became the Duke of Monmouth's
mistress. There is an old brick mansion called Plas Baddy, near Ruabon,
where "La Belle Myddelton" and her husband lived when the diversions of
the Court proved tedious; but buried in these wilds, she must have felt
sadly out of her element without the large following of admirers at her
feet. She had more brains, though, than most Court beauties, and being a
talented artist, was not entirely dependent upon flattery.
Near the entrance of the Ceiriog valley, to the west of Chirk, is a farm
called Pontfaen, and beyond, across some meadows, there is a remarkable
Druidical circle. Gigantic stones are riveted to the crosspieces of
archways, having the appearance of balancing themselves in a most
remarkable manner. The entrance to the circle has two pillars in which
are holes through which was passed a pole to act as wicket; and in front
of the altar is a rock in which may be seen cavities for the feet, where
the officiating priest is supposed to have stood. It is secluded,
solemn, and ghostly, especially by moonlight when we saw it for the
first time. The villages hereabouts, though picturesquely situated, are
far from interesting: whitewashed and red-brick cottages of a very plain
and ordinary type, and very few ancient buildings.
Some of the most picturesque old houses in England are to be found in
the southern and central part of Salop. Take, for example, Stokesay
Castle, which is quite unique. A battlemented Early English tower with
lancet windows and the great hall are the principal remains. The latter,
entered from above by a primitive wooden staircase, is a noble apartment
with a fine open timber roof. The exterior has been altered and added to
at a later period, making a very quaint group of gables, with a
projecting storey of half-timber of the sixteenth century. This is
lighted by lattice windows, and the bay or projection is held by timber
supports from the earlier masonry. It has a deep roof, and the whole
effect is odd and un-English. Not the least interesting feature is an
Elizabethan timber gatehouse with carved barge-boards, entrance gate,
and corner brackets, and the timbers shaped in diamonds and other
devices. Then there is picturesque Pitchford Hall and Condover close by:
the former a fine half-timber mansion, the latter a stately Elizabethan
pile of stone. Pitchford we believe has been very much burnished up and
considerably enlarged since we were there, but we should not like to see
it with its new embellishments, for from our recollection of the old
house, half its charm was owing to the fact that there was nothing
modern-antique about it: a dear old black-and-white homestead, which
looked too perfect a picture for the restorer to set to work upon it and
spoil its poetry; but for all that it may be improved. The courtyard
presents quite a dazzling arrangement of geometric patterns in the
timber work, and over the central porch there is a quaint Elizabethan
gable of wood quite unlike anything we have seen before. The side facing
the north is, or was, quite a picture for the artist's brush. The
stately lofty gables of Condover are in striking contrast with the more
homely looking ones of Pitchford; and the builder was an important
person in his day, as may be judged from his elaborate effigy in
Westminster Abbey, namely, Judge Owen, who claimed descent from one of
the ancient Welsh kings. Like most Elizabethan houses, Condover Hall is
built in the form of a letter E, but the central compartment was
probably added to later on by Inigo Jones. The doorway and bay-windows
above are of fine proportions, and full of dignity.
At Eaton Constantine, to the east, is the quaint old timber house where
Richard Baxter lived; and at Langley, to the south-east, a fine old
timber gatehouse; as well as Plash Hall, famous for its elaborate
twisted chimneys. Then there is Ludlow with its ruined castle, where
poor young Edward V. was proclaimed king before he set out for London:
and its famous "Feathers" hostelry with black-oak panelled rooms, its
old town-gate, and the ancient bridge of Ludford to the south. The
country between Ludlow and Shrewsbury is remarkably beautiful,
especially in the vicinity of Church Stretton, which of recent years has
grown rabidly as a health resort, meaning, of course, the springing up
of modern dwellings to mar its old-world snugness.
There is, or was some twenty years ago, a narrow street of old houses,
behind which, backed by beautiful woods, stood the manor-house, long
since converted into an inn, and the church. Beyond the woods rise a
range of lofty hills; and if we take the trouble to clamber up to the
highest peak (which rises to upwards of 1600 feet), we are well rewarded
for our pains. Two of the highest points are Caradoc and Lawley, famous
landmarks for miles around. The "Raven," when we visited it, was a
quaint old hostelry, and an ideal place to make headquarters for
exploring the romantic scenery all around.
At the pretty little village of Winnington, close upon the county
border, and fourteen miles as the crow flies to the north-west of Church
Stretton, stands a tiny little cottage at the foot of the Briedden
Hills. Here lived the famous old Parr, who was born there in the reign
of Edward IV. and died in that of Charles I., having lived in the reigns
of no less than ten monarchs. In his hundred and fifty-second year he
went to London for change of air, which unfortunately proved fatal. His
gravestone in Westminster Abbey will be remembered near Saint-Evremond's
and Chiffinch's, near the Poets' Corner.
[Illustration: MARKET DRAYTON.]
[Illustration: MARKET DRAYTON.]
The quiet little town of Market Drayton, some eighteen miles to the
north-east of Shrewsbury, contains many interesting timber houses. There
is still an old-fashioned air about the place of which the footsore
pedestrian stumbling over the cobble stones soon becomes conscious. The
quaint overhanging gables in the narrow streets are rich with ornamental
carvings. One long range of buildings at the corner of Shropshire and
Cheshire Streets is a fine specimen of "magpie" architecture. Let us
hope the row of antiquated shops on the basement will remain content
with their limited space; for so far those imposing modern structures,
which have a way of throwing everything out of harmony, are conspicuous
by their absence. Nor has the demon electric tram come to destroy this
quiet peaceful corner of Salop, as, alas! it has to so many of our old
towns. One dreads to think what England will be like in another fifty
years. Farther along Shropshire Street we find a little antiquated inn,
the "Dun Cow," with great timber beams and thick thatch roof, and the
"King's Arms" opposite bearing the date 1674 upon the gable abutting
upon the roof, which does not say much for the sobriety of the person
who set it up. Hard by is a good Queen Anne house standing a little
back, as if it didn't like to associate with such neighbours. It looked
deserted, and was "To Let"; and we couldn't help thinking how this
compact little house would be picked up were it only situated in
Kensington or Hampstead.
The church, an imposing building finely situated, is disappointing,
though there is some good Norman work about it. It has been reseated,
and the only thing worth noting is an old tomb showing the quaint female
costume of Elizabeth's day, and a tall-backed oak settle facing the
communion table. The latter looks as if it ought to be facing an open
fireplace in some manorial farm.
Many superstitions linger hereabouts. The old people can recollect the
dread in which a certain road was held at night for fear of a ghostly
lady, who had an unpleasant way of jumping upon the backs of the farmers
as they returned from market. Tradition does not record whether those
who were thus favoured were total abstainers; possibly not, for the lady
by all accounts had a grudge against those who occasionally took a
glass; and in a certain inn cellar, when jugs had to be replenished, it
was discomforting to find her seated on the particular barrel required,
like the goblin seen by Gabriel Grub upon the tombstone.
There was a custom among the old Draytonites for some reason, not to
permit their aged to die on a feather-bed. It was believed to make them
die hard, and so _in extremis_ it was dragged from beneath the
unfortunate person. The sovereign remedy they had for whooping-cough is
worth remembering, as it is so simple. All you have to do is to cut some
hair from the nape of the invalid child's neck, place it between a piece
of bread and butter, and hand the sandwich to a dog. If he devours it
the malady is cured; if he doesn't, well, the life of the dog at least
is spared.
A few miles to the east of the town, in the adjoining county, is the
famous battlefield of Bloreheath, where the Houses of Lancaster and
York fought desperately in 1459. The latter under the Earl of
Salisbury came off victorious, while the commander of Henry's forces was
slain. A stone pedestal marks the spot, originally distinguished by a
wooden cross, where Lord Audley fell.
Of less historical moment but more romantic interest, is the fact that
here close upon a couple of centuries later the diamond George of
Charles II. was concealed, while its royal wearer by right was lurking
fifteen miles away at Boscobel. The gallant Colonel Blague, who had had
the charge of this tell-tale treasure, was captured and thrown into the
Tower, where no less a celebrity than peaceful Isaak Walton managed to
smuggle it. Blague eventually escaped, and so the George found its way
to the king in France. At Blore also Buckingham remained concealed,
disguised as a labourer, before he got away into Leicestershire and
thence to London and the coast. "Buckingham's hole," the cave where his
grace was hidden, is still pointed out; and a very aged man who lived in
the neighbourhood a few years ago prided himself that he could show the
exact place where the duke fell and broke his arm; and he ought to have
known, as his great-grandfather was personally acquainted with "old
Elias Bradshaw," who was present when the accident happened.
Broughton Hall, a fine old Jacobean mansion, stands to the east of
Blore. It is a gloomy house, and has some ghostly traditions. We are
reminded of the rather startling fact that upon developing a negative of
the fine oak staircase there, the transparent figure of an old woman in
a mob-cap stood in the foreground! Here was proof positive for the
Psychological Society. But, alas! careful investigation upset the
mystery. The shadowy outline proved to be painfully like the ancient
housekeeper. The subject had required a long exposure, and the lady must
have wished to be immortalised, for she certainly must have stood in
front of the lens for at least a minute or so. It is strange this desire
to be pictured. Any amateur photographer must have experienced the
difficulties to be encountered in a village street. The hours of twelve
and four are fatal. School children in thousands will crop up to fill up
the foreground. In such a predicament a friend of ours was inspired with
an ingenious remedy. Having covered his head with the black cloth, he
was horrified to see a myriad of faces instead of the subject he wished
to take. However, he got his focus adjusted somehow, and having placed
his dark slide in position ready for exposure, he placed the cloth over
the lens-end of the camera as if focussing in the opposite direction.
Immediately there was a stampede for the other side, with considerable
struggling as to who should be foremost. The cherished little bit of
village architecture was now free, the cloth whipped away, and the
exposure given. "Are we all taken in, mister?" asked one of the boys a
little suspiciously. "Yes, my lads," was the response given, "you've all
been taken in." And so they had, but went home rejoicing.
Beside the staircase, there is little of interest inside Broughton.
There was a hiding-place once in one of the rooms which was screened by
an old oil painting, but it is now merged into tradition. The road from
Newport passes through wild and romantic scenery. At Croxton, farther to
the east, there is, or was, a Maypole, one of those old-world villages
where ancient customs die hard. Swinnerton Hall, a fine Queen Anne house
to the north-east, and nearer to Stone, is the seat of the ancient
family of Fitzherbert, the beautiful widow of one of whose members was
in 1785 married to the Prince Regent, afterwards George IV.
The palatial Hall of Trentham, farther to the north, is rather beyond
our province, being in the main modern. One grieves that the fine old
house represented in Dr. Plot's quaint history of the county has passed
away; one grieves, indeed, that so many of these fine Staffordshire
houses are no more. The irreparable loss of Ingestre Hall, Wrothesley
Hall, Enville Hall, and of Severn End in the adjoining county, makes one
shudder at the dangers of fire in these ancestral mansions. Coombe
Abbey in Warwickshire was only quite recently saved from a like fate by
Lord Craven's activity and presence of mind.
But the old gatehouse of Tixall to the east of Stafford, and Wootton
Lodge to the north of Uttoxeter, fortunately still remain intact. The
former presents much the same appearance as in Plot's drawing of 1686,
but the curious gabled timber mansion beyond has long since disappeared,
and the classic building that occupies its site looks hardly in keeping
with so perfect an example of Elizabethan architecture. The romantic
situation of Wootton Lodge is well described by Howitt. The majestic
early-Jacobean mansion (the work of Inigo Jones) has a compactness and
dignity quite its own, and there is nothing like it anywhere in England,
though more classic, perhaps, than the majority of houses of its period.
It has a battlemented roof surmounted by an array of massive chimneys,
mullioned windows innumerable, and a graceful flight of steps leading to
the ornamental porch. It was not at this stately house that the
eccentric Jean Jacques came to bury himself for over a year, but at the
Hall, a far less picturesque building. The philosopher and his companion
Theresa le Vasseur were looked at askance by the country folk; and "old
Ross Hall," as they called him, botanising in the secluded lanes in his
strange striped robe and grotesque velvet cap with gold tassels and
pendant, was a holy terror to the children. It was supposed he was in
search of "lost spirits," as indeed was the case, for his melancholia at
length led to his departure under the suspicion that there was a plot to
poison him.
A bee-line drawn across Staffordshire, say from Bridgnorth in Salop to
Haddon in Derbyshire, would intersect some of the most interesting
spots. In addition to Wootton and Ingestre, we have Throwley Hall,
Croxden and Calwich Abbeys, and Tissington (in Derbyshire) to the
north-east (not to mention Alton and Ham), and Boscobel, Whiteladies,
Tong, etc., to the south-east.
Of Boscobel and Whiteladies we have dealt with elsewhere too
particularly to call for any fresh description here; but not so with the
picturesque village of Tong, whose church is certainly the most
interesting example of early-Perpendicular architecture in the county.
Would that the interiors of our old churches were as carefully preserved
as is the case here. There is nothing modern and out of harmony. The
rich oak carvings of the screens and choir stalls; the monumental
effigies of the Pembrugges, Pierrepoints, Vernons, and Stanleys; the
Golden Chapel, or Vernon chantry--all recall nooks and corners in
Westminster Abbey. It was Sir Edward Stanley, whose recumbent effigy in
plate armour is conspicuous, who married Margaret Vernon, the sister of
the runaway heiress of Haddon, and thus inherited Tong Castle, as his
brother-in-law did the famous Derbyshire estate.
The early-Tudor castle was demolished in the eighteenth century, when
the present Strawberry-Hill Gothic fortress of reddish-coloured stone
was erected by a descendant of the Richard Durant whose initials may
still be seen on the old house in the Corn Market at Worcester, where
Charles II. lodged before the disastrous battle.[28] Unromantic as were
Georgian squires, as a rule, the Eastern Gothic architecture of their
houses and the fantastic and unnatural grottoes in their grounds show
signs of sentimental hankering. At Tong they went one better, for there
are traditions of AEolian harps set in the masonry of the farmyard of the
castle. The mystic music must indeed have been thrown unto the winds!
But the Moorish-looking mansion, if architecturally somewhat a
monstrosity, is nevertheless picturesque, with its domed roofs and
pinnacles. A fine collection of pictures was dispersed in 1870,
including an interesting portrait of Nell Gwyn, and of Charles I., which
has been engraved.
In the older building (which somewhat resembled old Hendlip Hall) was
born the famous seventeenth-century beauty, Lady Venetia Digby, _nee_
Stanley, of whom Vandyck has left us many portraits, notably the one at
Windsor Castle,--an allegorical picture representing the triumph of
innocence over calumny, for she certainly was a lady with "a past." The
learned and eccentric Sir Kenelm Digby, her husband, endeavoured to
preserve her charms by administering curious mixtures, such as viper
wine; and this, though it was very well meant, probably ended her career
before she was thirty-three. One can scarcely be surprised that at the
post-mortem examination they discovered but very little brains; but this
her husband attributed to his viper wine getting into her head!
Not far from Tong, in a secluded lane, is a tiny cottage called Hobbal
Grange, which is associated with the wanderings of Charles II. when a
fugitive from Worcester. Here lived the mother of the loyal Penderel
brothers, who risked their lives in harbouring their illustrious guest.
We mention Hobbal more particularly as since the _Flight of the King_
was written we have had it pointed out pretty conclusively that "the
Grange" of to-day is only a small portion of the original "Grange Farm"
converted into a labourer's dwelling. The greater part of the original
house was pulled down in the eighteenth century. In an old plan, dated
1739, of which we have a tracing before us, there are no less than seven
buildings comprising the farm, which was the largest on the Tong estate.
In 1855 it was reduced to eighty-six acres. In 1716, Richard Penderel's
grandson, John Rogers, was still in residence at Hobbal.
[Illustration: BLACKLADIES.]
Near Whiteladies is the rival establishment Blackladies, a picturesque
red-brick house with step-gables and mullioned bays. As the name
implies, this also was a nunnery, but there are but scanty remains of
the original building. There is a stone cross, and some other fragments
are built into the masonry; and in the stables may be seen the chapel,
where services were held until sixty years ago. Part of the moat also
remains. A lane near at hand is still known as "Spirit Lane," because
the Black Nuns of centuries ago have been seen to walk there.