Ludlow town occupies a fine, commanding situation upon a sort of knoll,
or promontory of high land, encompassed upon its southern side by the
windings of the Teme, whose waters, flowing through a picturesque defile
beneath the limestone scarps of Whitcliff, here divide Shropshire from
its neighbour of Hereford.
What the place was like in olden times we may gather from the records of
John Leland. 'The town of Ludlow,' he observes, writing in the reign of
Henry VIII., 'is very propre, welle walled and gated, and standeth every
way eminent from a Botom. In the side of the Town, as a Peace of the
Enclosing of the Walle, is a fair Castel. Within the Town, even yn the
mydle, is one Paroch chyrch. There be in the Wall 5 gates. Broad gate
leadeth to Broad Street, the fayrest part of the Towne. The Castel
standeth on a strong Rocke, well ditched, between Corne gate and Mille
gate. The Paroch church is very fayre and large, and richly adorned, and
taken for the fayrest in all those Quarters.'
The town, then, as Leland has it, 'standeth every way eminent from a
Botom,' with the noble old church of St. Lawrence crowning the brow of
the hill, so that its tall, ruddy tower forms a notable landmark to the
good folks of the whole countryside.
Upon the western flank of the town, just where the declivity is most
precipitous, rise the ruins of Ludlow Castle; that magnificent
stronghold of the Lords Marchers, to which the place owes its ancient
fame. To the Castle, then, let us first of all direct our steps.
[Illustration: Sir Henry Sydney's Gateway. Ludlow Castle.]
Approaching by way of Castle Square, we enter upon a broad, smooth
stretch of greensward, encompassed by stone walls and old ruined
structures, the Base court or outer Bailey of the fortress. Before us
rises a noble pile of buildings which constitute the main fabric of the
castle. Grey and weatherworn, shrouded in ivy, and overshadowed by tall
sycamore trees, these venerable ruins compose a scene picturesque to a
degree, whereof the sketch upon the opposite page may convey some
impression.
[Illustration: Ludlow Castle & Church.]
In the centre rises the great Keep or donjon tower, a vast substantial
structure of the Norman period, whose massive walls, pierced with
narrow, round-arched openings, little better than loopholes, contrast
strikingly with the mullioned windows and slender, roofless gables that
appear alongside. These latter, as is recorded by an inscription above
the entrance gateway, owe their inception to Sir Henry Sydney, President
of the Welsh Marches in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, whose arms,
conjoined with those of England and France, appear in a panel above the
archway, with the date of erection, 1581.
An isolated tower away to the left is one of the most ancient portions
of the castle. It is known as 'Mortimer's Tower,' from a tradition that
Hugh de Mortimer was imprisoned within its walls towards the close of
the twelfth century. But that is another story, whereof more anon.
Let us now pass on to the inner ward, which is surrounded by tall,
irregular structures, whose crumbling walls and battlements have been
brought to a rare state of soft, harmonious colouring, by the mellowing
touch of time.
Out in the courtyard, detached from all its neighbours, rises a small
circular twelfth-century chapel, whose beautifully enriched, semi-headed
west doorway and curiously carved string-course, bespeak the Normans'
handiwork. This chapel is almost unique of its kind in England. The fine
chancel arch still remains, but of the chancel itself only the
foundations can now be traced. In former days the chapel was hung with
'Armes in colours, sitch as fewe can shewe,'
'So bravely wroughte, so fayre and finely fram'd,
That to the Worlde's end their beauty may endure!'
We now pass out again into the green courtyard. Turning our backs upon
the entrance way we see before us an extensive group of buildings, now
roofless and half in ruin, yet stately in their decay. In the centre,
approached by a sort of sloping gangway, rises a noble hall, a spot
famed in local history as the scene of the earliest performance of
Milton's 'Masque of Comus.' One of the adjacent chambers is pointed out
as that occupied by Prince Arthur, son of Henry VII.
Beside the Keep-tower are the scanty ruins of the castle kitchen, which,
to judge from the fireplace, an enormous oven, and some rusty iron
utensils of proportionate size, must have been on a scale commensurate
even with the needs of this vast mediæval ménage. Close at hand is the
castle well, which, though not enclosed within the area of the Norman
keep, is not far away from it, and was probably protected by its
adjacent outworks.
Down in the basement of the keep is a dark, vaulted chamber, far below
the surface of the ground. This was originally used as the castle
chapel, whereof two well-proportioned Norman arches still remain,
supported upon slender pillars with simply ornamented capitals. A
curious arrangement of walls and passages here has given rise to an
obscure myth concerning lions, or other wild beasts, having been kept in
this chamber to devour obnoxious prisoners, when it was used at one time
as a dungeon.
Well, to make a long story short, a climb to the top of the ancient
Keep-tower forms a fitting finale to our explorations; for the prospect
from its lofty battlements is extremely varied and picturesque. The
castle precincts, lying at our feet, look very green and pleasant amid
their setting of verdant foliage. Beyond a group of tall elms appear the
old tiled roofs of the town, dominated by the stately tower of St.
Lawrence's church, while the bold outline of Titterstone Clee Hill rises
far away in the background. Towards the north lie the Stretton hills,
enclosing a luxuriant vale, followed by the dimpled heights that mark
the whereabouts of Clun Forest. Directing our gaze towards the south, a
goodly scene meets the eye where the Teme, winding through its hollow
gorge, washes the lower slopes of Whitcliff, whose rough, rocky terraces
merge higher up in the rich masses of woodland that clothe the
hillsides.
Many a time in the dim, forgotten past, have these old walls re-echoed
to the making of history. At the date of Domesday Survey the Manor of
Ludlow was held by Roger de Lacy, by whom the Castle was built.
Joce de Dinan, 'a strong and valiant knight,' who was Lord of Ludlow in
King Stephen's reign, was constantly at feud with his rival, Hugh de
Mortimer of Wigmore, until, having captured that knight by an ambuscade,
he shut him up a prisoner in the loftiest tower in the third ward of the
Castle, which to this day retains the name of 'Mortimer's Tower.'
Under King Stephen and his successor the fortress passed through a time
of storm and stress, marked by some stirring incidents. A romantic story
turns upon the adventures of Fulk FitzWarine and Hawyse, daughter of
Joce de Dinan; and the intrigues of Arnold de Lisle with that 'very
gentle damsel,' Marion of the Heath.
Early in the thirteenth century Ludlow Castle was seized by King John,
who, during his great struggle with the Barons, carried fire and sword
throughout the Welsh Marches. Henry III. visited Ludlow in the course of
his Border wars, and concluded there a treaty of peace with Prince
Llewelyn. During this and the succeeding reign the Mortimers, Lords of
Wigmore, attained to great influence, and eventually secured by marriage
their claim to the English crown.
Richard Plantagenet, during his chequered career, was often at Ludlow
Castle, where he was besieged by the King in October, 1459. Treachery in
the camp, however, proved the ruin of Richard's cause, and the
Lancastrians captured and plundered the castle.
After suffering eclipse, the fortunes of York were once more retrieved
at the famous Battle of Mortimer's Cross, fought a few miles from
Ludlow. At a later date Edward IV. sent his two boys for safe keeping to
Ludlow Castle; and Arthur Tudor, Prince of Wales, son of Henry VII.,
spent a portion of his short life within its precincts.
The Court of the Presidency of Wales, established about this period,
figures largely in the subsequent history of Ludlow; and by the middle
of the sixteenth century the town and castle had risen to the zenith of
their fortunes. At the time of the Civil Wars Ludlow Castle was held for
the King, and proved a hard nut for the Parliamentarians to crack, being
the last stronghold in Shropshire to fall into their hands. In 1689 the
Court of the Marches was abolished, and as a result the Castle was
finally allowed to fall into a state of ruin and decay.
A truce, now, to history. Retracing our steps to the castle-garth, we
pass through the outer doorway and fare forth into Ludlow town in search
of antiquarian spoil. Our quest is quickly rewarded, for at yonder
street corner, beyond some tall elms, rises the Castle Lodge, a
picturesque structure of timber and plaster, built by Thomas Sackford, a
burgess of Ludlow, in Queen Elizabeth's reign. Sackford held the office
of Master of Requests under that Sovereign, and in 1572 was appointed
Porter, and Keeper of the Prisoners in the Marches of Wales. The ancient
timber quartering of the upper story has only recently been brought to
light from beneath its coating of modern plaster; a laudable
restoration, which might well be imitated in the case of other old
Ludlow house-fronts.
In Castle Square, hard by, stands the new Market-house, a spick-and-span
production of the 1887 Jubilee year. Its older prototype was a plain,
unobtrusive brick edifice dating from the time of Queen Anne; of which
period one or two large, roomy houses, overlooking Castle Square, are
fair representatives.
Threading our way through a narrow thoroughfare, we presently catch a
glimpse of a quaint old structure, surmounted by a clock turret, or
belfry. This is the Butter Cross, a grey stone edifice built, perhaps, a
couple of centuries ago, and, without any great pretensions to
architectural taste, yet a pleasant object to look upon by reason of its
uneven, weather-stained surfaces, and rough irregular contours. Beneath
its old worn arches the country folk foregather of a market day; and it
is worth while to linger near on a Sunday morning to watch the Mayor's
procession, when, accompanied by the black robed mace-bearers, he
marches hence to attend service in the great collegiate church hard by,
as the time-honoured custom is. Let us follow his Worship's lead, then,
and take a look at St. Lawrence's church.
For this purpose we turn through a short narrow passage-way, which goes
by the curious name of 'Scallens,' or Kalends; at the end whereof we
find ourselves before a large hexagonal south porch with angle
buttresses and embattled parapet, a feature seldom met with in our
English churches.
St. Lawrence's church at Ludlow is undoubtedly one of the finest
throughout all broad Shropshire. Its ruddy sandstone walls, its serried
buttresses and graceful flamboyant windows, rise in charming contrast
above the sombre yew trees whose foliage enshrouds the quiet graveyard;
while, high overhead, the great central tower soars aloft into the blue,
with the jackdaws wheeling and circling around its topmost battlements,
or holding noisy conclave amidst the intricacies of its great traceried
windows.
The interior of the church, too, displays that spacious dignity
characteristic of the Perpendicular style: the clerestoried nave, the
chancel with its grand painted windows, and the lofty open lantern
beneath the tower, combining to create an appearance of cathedral-like
magnificence. What with the rich, subdued glow of ancient glass, the
dark oak screens spanning chancel and transepts, and the slender pillars
and arches soaring far aloft, the general effect is extremely noble and
impressive.
A magnificent canopied oak roodscreen divides the nave from the chancel,
which is flanked on either side by rows of stalls, used in bygone times
by the chantry priests of St. John of Jerusalem, their dark oaken
tracery contrasting beautifully with the old grey stonework around. The
miserere seats here are worth a close examination, being carved with
very quaint emblematical imagery; as, for example, the panel which
figures at the end of the present chapter.
The great Perpendicular window, which occupies nearly the whole of the
east end of the chancel, is filled with ancient stained glass,
portraying, in the realistic style dear to the mediæval mind, scenes
from the Legend of St. Lawrence, the tutelary saint of the church.
Some good old glass in the east window of the adjacent chapel of St.
John records the so-called Legend of the King. The treatment is curious
and original, as it often was in those days. Indeed, every window of
this chapel has some beauty of its own.
But to return to the chancel. Beneath the great window, from wall to
wall, extends an elegant stone reredos, brought to light some years
since in the course of restorations. It is divided up into a series of
canopied and crocketed niches, containing small sculptured statues of
considerable beauty. Behind this screen is a remarkable little chamber
lighted by a single early pointed window, and supposed to have been used
either as the church-treasury, or for communicating with lepers, or
outcasts.
In the south chancel wall there is a handsome sedilia of Perpendicular
date; and opposite to it a large, arched recess, where the Easter
Sepulchre was displayed in pre-Reformation days.
The south or Lady-chapel has a fine Jesse window, besides other notable
features. The backs of the stalls, dividing this chapel from the
chancel, are painted in Old English lettering with 'The commandemente of
Almyghty God,' set up, by order of the royal commissioners, in the reign
of good Queen Bess. In olden times it was customary for the Cordwainers
and other honourable companies to hold their meetings in this chapel; as
did the Fletchers, or Arrowsmiths, in the north transept, the gable
whereof is still surmounted by their cognizance, an arrow. An unusually
fine flamboyant window is, unfortunately, hidden from the interior by
the large and very excellent organ that almost monopolizes this
transept.
Though not so numerous as one might expect, there are several handsome
monuments in Ludlow church. The oldest of these is a much mutilated
table-tomb in the north aisle, reputed to be that of Arthur, Prince of
Wales, son of Henry VII., who died near Ludlow. On the top of this tomb
are piled, and doled out thence every Sunday morning, twelve goodly
quartern loaves for the benefit of as many poor widows.
Under the before-mentioned arch of the Easter Sepulchre, upon a panelled
table-tomb, repose the effigies of an Elizabethan knight and his lady,
with the ensuing inscription: 'HEARE LYETH THE BODYES OF SYR ROBART
TOWNESHEND, KNIGHT, CHIEF JUSTES OF THE COUNSELL IN THE MARCHES OF
WALLES AND CHESTER, AND DAME ALICE HYS WYFF.' In the panels below appear
their 'VI. SONNES AND VI. DOUGHTERS, LAWFULLY BEGOT.'
Over the way is a similar but plainer tomb, which, though now lacking
the 'Closet fayre in-wrought, where Lords may sit in stately solemn
wise,' that Churchyard the poet saw, displays still some handsome
hatchments, set into the wall above. 'HEARE LYETHE,' runs the legend,
'THE BODYE OF AMBROSIA SYDNEY, IIIITH DOUGHTER OF THE RIGHT HONORABLE
SYR HENRYE SYDNEY, KNIGHT OF THE MOSTE NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, LORDE
PRESIDENT OF THE COUNSELL OF WALLES, ETC., AND OF THE LADYE MARYE, HYS
WYEF, DOUGHTE OF YE FFAMOUS DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND, WHO DYED IN LUDLOWE
CASTELL, YE 22ND OF FEBRUARI, 1574.'
An adjacent monument to Edmund Walter and his lady, dated 1592, shews
traces of a degenerate style creeping in, Time with his hour-glass
appearing atop of the arch, with scrolls and pediments introduced by way
of enrichments.
This sort of funereal gear, so much in vogue at a later period, is well
seen upon the eighteenth-century memorial to Theophilus Salwey, Esq.,
with its chubby, smiling cherub, placidly seated upon an hour-glass, and
surrounded by skulls, bones, and such-like disjecta membra, a curious
conjunction! Salwey, with equal mind, declares himself by the
inscription, 'Pro Rege Sæpe, Pro Republica Semper.'
The antiquary may discover much matter of this sort in the course of a
stroll through St. Lawrence's church; but, not to pursue the subject ad
nauseam, we will now sally forth into the town again, and continue our
peregrinations. Before leaving the church, however, let us glance at the
ancient font, a strange, archaic-looking stone vessel, large, plain and
bowl-shaped, and bearing traces of the days when it did duty as a
watering trough somewhere in the vicinity.
Once more in the open air we turn towards the east end of the
churchyard, where the ancient abode known as the Reader's House raises
its old weatherbeaten gable beside the pathway; a delightful jumble of
rough stonework, carved beams and dim, diamond-paned windows. The low
portal, enclosing an ancient nail-studded door, is beautiful with rare
old Jacobean carving, and a row of plain brick dwellings alongside
contrast not unpleasingly with their venerable neighbour.
* * * * *
A terraced walk on the north side of the churchyard occupies the site of
the old town wall, and embraces a fair prospect over the surrounding
country, a goodly, fertile landscape, very pleasant to behold. In
ancient times, before the Normans built their church on the site of the
present edifice, a prehistoric tumulus occupied the western end of what
is now the graveyard. From this monticle the town is said to acquire
its name, the word Ludlow being derived from Leod-hlaw, the People's
Hill, shewing the place is at least as old as Saxon times.
[Illustration: Palmers Guild, Ludlow.]
Of the 'fayre House' of the Palmers' Guild 'at the west end of the
Paroche Churche-yard,' there are some scanty remains incorporated amidst
more modern buildings, now not easy to find, nor yet very imposing when
discovered. And as for the 'Hospitall or Almes-house of a 30 poore
Folke,' built by one Hosyer in the year of grace 1468, and noticed by
Leland, its place is now usurped by the gaunt red-brick edifice opposite
the west front of the church.
We now retrace our steps to the Butter Cross, calling to mind old
Churchyard's lines on Ludlow:
'Who that lists to walk the Towne about
Shall find therein some rare and pleasant things.'
Yonder before us lies Broad Street, a spacious, respectable-looking
thoroughfare still, if not as in Leland's time, 'the fayrest part of the
Towne;' with Butcher Row under the pillars to the left, the Angel Hotel
farther on, and the solitary survivor of Ludlow's seven town-gates
spanning the lower end of the street.
So down Broad Street we now take our way, pausing beneath the grim old
archway to notice the grooves for the portcullis in its massive masonry.
Two semicircular towers, jutting boldly forth, protect the gateway upon
its outer side, and command the approach from Ludford Bridge. Sober,
antiquated tenements cling like parasites around the ancient gateway,
and the humble Wheat-Sheaf Inn thrusts out its bar-parlour window upon
the site of the old town moat.
A bowshot farther we come to Ludford Bridge; and, as in Leland's day,
'there be three fayre arches in this bridge over Teme,' though the
'pretty chapel upon it of St. Catherine' is now no more. Huge sparlings,
wider than the bridge itself, afford tempting nooks wherein to linger
and gaze upon the clear tide swirling past the bold cutwaters below,
where house-leeks, ground-ivy and such-like wildlings, have made their
homes in the crannies of the stonework.
The view hence is delightful, look which way we will; trees, rocks,
bustling rapids and deep, calm pools that reflect the sky, combining to
form a scene of rural harmony. A picturesque old flour-mill and some
dilapidated tanneries still cling to the bank hard by, though Peter
Undergod's ancient fulling-mill is now a thing of the past, having been
swept away in an unprecedented flood a dozen years ago.
Beyond the bridge rise the church, the ancient manor-house and timbered
cottages of Ludford, a fascinating spot; but Ludford lies without our
province, in shire Hereford. So turning presently to the right-about, we
leave upon our dexter hand the site of an Hospital, founded by Peter
Undergod in King John's reign and dedicated to St. John Baptist, whereof
the name alone now survives. Then, passing through Broad Gate again, we
strike thence into a narrow lane running alongside the old town-wall.
This brings us to Mill Street, near a row of humble stone tenements
wherein Mr. Oliver Baker discovered, some few years ago, traces of old
work dating back as far as the thirteenth century. These are supposed to
be the remains of Barnaby House, a guest-house where, in mediæval times,
pilgrims used to break their journey when travelling into Wales.
Arrived in Mill Street, we make for the Grammar School, a long, low,
whitewashed building relieved by dormer windows, and retaining, in a
couple of two-light trefoil-headed windows and a wide arched doorway,
relics of antiquity. It is a place of very early foundation, having been
established by the Palmers' Guild in the thirteenth century, and
afterwards made over to the Ludlow Corporation with the stipulation that
they 'alwayes finde in ye same Towne, at their own charges, a free
Grammar schole, with a schoolmaster and an Hussher, for the erudicion of
youth in the Latine tonge.' Chartered by King Edward VI., the School,
one of the most ancient in the Kingdom, still continues its useful and
prosperous career.
The Ludlow Natural History Society has a small but well arranged
Museum near the top of Mill Street, which is replete with objects of
interest to the antiquary and the naturalist.
Here, in the district where they were originally brought to light, the
famous fossils of Siluria may be studied; while birds, fishes, and
shells of various kinds are well in evidence. Then there are the relics
of bygone Ludlow, a curious olla podrida; here a rusty iron-bound
deed-chest, there a quaint money-box with intricate lock; or something
'loathely and grim' in the way of torturing gear, such as the Branks
shewn in the sketch at the end of the foregoing chapter, a horrid engine
used for compressing the heads and branding the cheeks of malefactors.
Upon the wall above the Museum door hang two big wooden balls, with a
rope's-end attached to each. These were used in olden times upon Shrove
Tuesday, when a kind of municipal tug-of-war took place. At either end
of a long rope (whereof we here see the remnants) the men of Broad and
Castle Wards confronted the champions of Corve Street and Old Street,
each party endeavouring to pull their opponents over to their side of
the town, until the end of the rope went into the Teme or the Corve, as
the tide of contest swayed.
The Butter Cross is once again our rendezvous. Passing thence towards
the Bull Ring, we notice several fine old timber-framed houses, besides
others that hide their charms beneath a disfiguring mantle of whitewash.
Some of these ancient residences retain their handsome plaster ceilings,
and oaken staircases with massive newels and twisted balusters.
[Illustration: The "Feathers" Hotel. Ludlow.]
The Bull Ring itself, where our 'rude forefathers' enjoyed the
exhilarating sport of bull-baiting, is encumbered with some oldish
houses, not bad ones of their kind. But such attractions as they offer
are quite put into the shade by a beautiful half-timbered edifice which
rises but a stone's-throw away, so thitherward let us now direct our
steps.
This is the Feathers Hotel, an ancient hostelry which, as may be
gathered from our sketch, is a magnificent example of mediæval domestic
architecture. Observe how the venerable house seems to 'stand at ease,'
as it were, in these days of its ripe old age; its tall beetling gables
and quaintly carved beams leaning this way or that, quite regardless of
perspective. With what picturesque effect its diamond-paned oriel
windows jut forth from beneath the deep-browed eaves, and the queer
carven monsters ogle the passer-by from bulging bracket and beam end;
and how charmingly the flowering creepers on the balcony relieve its
grim old timbers.
Upon stepping within we notice the letters R.I. on the lock-plate of the
door; but whether this refers to King James I., or to Mr. Jones, the
traditional builder of the house, we leave others to decide. The same
letters reversed figure upon the beautiful carved oak chimney-piece in
the coffee-room, which, with its elaborate plaster ceiling, intricately
carved oak panelling, and low, lattice-paned windows, has quite a
mediæval appearance. Hard by is another fine wainscoted chamber, where
some visitor of bygone days has set his signet in the form of a family
hatchment, duly 'erased' and 'impaled,' in true heraldic fashion.
In point of historic interest, the record of this fine old hostelry is
little better than a 'perfect and absolute blank.' But from the general
style of its architecture, and the presence of the royal arms in its
principal chamber, it has been conjectured that The Feathers was in some
way connected with the Courts of the Marches, which played such an
important part at Ludlow in mediæval days.
Over the way stands The Bull, another oldfashioned hotel, with one of
those large, rambling inn-yards, familiar to travellers of a bygone
generation. Upstairs in the dining-room are preserved those 'armes in
colours, sitch as fewe can shewe,' which, as we have seen, once graced
the ancient castle chapel; and amongst them may be found the armorial
bearings of many a one who bore a name to conjure with in the brave days
of old.
Thomas Lane, in the year 1674, established at Ludlow an alms-house for
aged and decayed women. Its habitat in Old Street is still known as
Lane's Asylum, a picturesque structure of timber and stone displaying
the half obliterated letters E.C. upon a gable-end, and a date that
looks like 1621. The house itself is evidently of great age, but has
nothing of interest within, save and except an old coat-of-arms in the
refectory, supported by the lion and winged griffin, and ensigned by a
royal crown and the initials E.R.
Of the Whitefriars Monastery, that 'fayre and costly thinge' which
Leland noticed on the banks of Corve, scarce one stone has been left
upon another; or, to speak more precisely, one solitary arch stands
tottering to its fall. Being far gone into disrepair, the place was
pulled down about a century ago, and its materials carted away to build
pigstys and the like.
In the same quarter is to be seen a group of ancient almshouses built by
one of the Foxes of Bromfield, whose coat-of-arms, with the date 1593,
appears upon the low grey stone façade fronting on the highway.
Thus it will be seen that, hidden away amongst the nooks and corners of
Ludlow town, there are many relics of ancient domestic architecture,
such as lend a quaint, mediæval appearance to its older streets. The
surrounding country, too, is equally favoured, for it is full of the
charm of secluded, rural beauty; while rustic villages and smiling
homesteads are to be met with on every hand.
So now let us bid farewell to the pavements, and, taking to the leafy
lanes, push forth again into the open country.
[Illustration: A "Miserere" at Ludlow.]