THE REDDISH VALLEY AND ARDEN (OR HARDEN) HALL.
What exhibitions various hath the world
Witness'd of mutability in all
That we account most durable below!
Change is the diet on which all subsist,
Created changeable, and change at last
Destroys them.
COWPER.
It speaks not a little for the vigorous and buoyant life of the
immediate neighbourhood of our town that so few examples are to be met
with of decay and ruin. Turn whichever way we will, we find new houses,
new factories, new enterprises, but scarcely an instance of wasting
away and dilapidation. The nearest important relic of the feudal
times is Beeston Castle, just described; and the nearest memorial and
sepulchre of those brave, good men who, while the rulers of our country
were fighting and oppressing, conserved within the convent walls
learning, religion, charity, and a hundred other things that kept the
national civilisation moving until the aurora of the Reformation, is
Whalley Abbey, also more than thirty miles away. Excepting a few old
houses of little significance, everything about us is intact, occupied
usefully, and a fine testimony to the intelligence and the energy of
the province. Let a stranger visit any part of the country within the
radius indicated, and he will feel that he is in a place where life
is concentrated: everything bespeaks nerve; whatever has died seems
to have been succeeded on the instant by a more powerful thing. Like
a laurel-tree, we are dressed in this district in the foliage of
perennial and vehement vitality; while there is plenty of solid stem to
mark honourable antiquity, the leaves that have gone have but made way
for new and larger ones.
These reflections have been suggested by a visit to Arden Hall, the
solitary exception to the strong, unyielding life of the vicinity. Upon
this account alone it is a place of interest. The situation, also,
is one of the most delightful ever selected for a country residence.
The locality may be described, in general terms, as on the Cheshire
bank of the river Tame, about half-way between Stockport and Hyde.
The Tame separates Lancashire from that odd bit of Cheshire which,
running up in a kind of peninsula at its north-east corner, terminates
with Mossley and Tintwistle, the Etherowe forming its boundary on the
opposite side, and dividing it from Derbyshire. Few would suppose it
possible, but the county of Cheshire is at this point scarcely more
than two miles across! The ruin itself is easily found, the way to it
being by Levenshulme and Reddish,[16] inquiring there for the Reddish
paper-mills, which lie in the valley on the Lancashire side of the
river, and are approached by a steep descent, with beautiful views of
the surrounding country in front and upon the left. Crossing the river
by the mills, mounting the hill, going through a few fields and a grove
of trees, right before us, sooner than expected, stands the hall, a
large, tall square building of grey stone. At first sight, it appears
to be in tolerable preservation. The remains of the old sun-dial are
still visible, the diamonded casements of some of the windows are
perfect, and the exterior generally is undefaced. But the illusion
soon passes away. Penetrating to the inside, the great hall--a noble
apartment, some eleven yards by eight--is found heaped with rubbish
and fallen beams; the ceiling, once ornamented with pendent points,
is all gone, except a small portion in one corner; it seems a wonder
that the roof still cares to stay. A slender turret, rising above the
rest of the fabric, includes a circular staircase, leading to the
gallery of the upper floor. Here the diamonded casements reappear,
looking full into the western sky, and over the trees and river winding
at the foot of the steep; and here we discover the loveliness of the
site. Abundantly wooded, strewn with fertile meads, and opening out in
every direction pretty views of distant hills, with yet more distant
ones peeping over their shoulders, there is not a more picturesque
valley east of Manchester, that is to say, not until we are fairly
into Derbyshire, than is spread before the windows of forsaken Arden.
There is not a spot upon its slopes where we may not pause and admire,
and wish for our friends. As at Beeston, the mind quickly travels back
to the lang syne. Out of those windows, through the open casements,
how often have the eyes of fair girls gazed, in sweet summer evenings,
long and peacefully, upon the woods and winding water, and painted
sunset, one generation after another, all gone now, their ancient home
crumbling to dust--but the woods and winding water and sunset the same.
The poets talk of nature's sympathy with man; there is nothing so
marked as her lofty indifference to him.
Archæologically, Arden is interesting as a fine specimen of the
domestic architecture of the sixteenth century, and is remarkable
for its unusually large bay windows. The waterspouts are inscribed
1597. The history of the estate and its proprietors dates, however,
as far back as the time of King John, and though no direct evidence
is within reach, there is reason to believe that an earlier building
once stood near, and that the present ruin is the second hall. John
o' Gaunt is said to have been an inmate of the original. The family
history may be seen at length in Ormerod's "Cheshire," in the third
volume of which work, p. 399, is a drawing of the hall as it appeared
before relinquished to decay. Visitors to the Art-Treasures Exhibition
of 1857 will recollect Mr. C. H. Mitchell's pretty water-colour view
of the same place, and there are few, perhaps, of our local artists
who have not sketched it. It would appear from the date of Ormerod's
work (1819), where the hall is described as containing furniture and
paintings, that it has been deserted only since the death of George
III. Until recently one of its curiosities was a stone pulpit, in
which it is said Oliver Cromwell once preached. The rustic legend of
the place is that, once upon a time, long before powder and shot were
invented, there lived hereabouts a doughty baron. On the opposite side
of the valley was a similar castle, held by a rival baron, who returned
his neighbour's jealousy with interest. These two worthies used to
spend their time in shooting at one another with bows and arrows, till
at last, tired of long range, and such desultory warfare, the Baron of
Arden collected his dependents, dived down into the valley, scaled the
opposite heights, slaughtered his enemy, and so utterly demolished his
castle, that now not a vestige of it is discoverable.
There is generally some good foundation for such legends. Upon the
eastern side of the hall, some distance from the moat, traces of
ancient earthworks are discoverable, extending towards the present
"Castle-hill," and which probably protected some simple fortification.
Flint arrow-heads and other relics of primitive weapons found in the
soil of the adjacent fields sustain the conjecture, and in truth a
better seat for a manorial stronghold it would not be easy to select.
The appellation of the ancient fortress when superseded by a building
of more peaceful character, would naturally be transferred to the
latter, and after the lapse of a little time, nothing more than the
name would survive to tell the story. Originally it was Arderne, as
in the reference by Webb, in 1622, to another seat of the family, "A
fine house belonging to Henry Arderne, Esq." In any case, the prefix
of an _H_ appears to be erroneous, if nothing worse. The last of
this name was the Richard Pepper Arderne, born at the old hall, and
educated at the Manchester Grammar School, who in 1801, three years
before his death, was raised to the peerage, with the title of Baron
Alvanley. Arden Hall is not only remarkable in being built wholly of
stone, when so many other mansions of the period were timber, but in
the high-pitched roof of the tower--a feature rarely observable in such
edifices.
Leaving the hall, the road descends rapidly towards the river, here
crossed by a stone bridge, shortly before reaching which there are some
cottages upon the left. At one of these, with the name "Thomas Ingham"
over the door, a nice tea may be obtained. It is not a very attractive
place to look at, but the parlour (at the back) is as comfortable as
any lady could desire; the provision is excellent, the attendance
prompt and respectful, and the charge so moderate that it seems
wonderful how it can pay. Forget not that in visiting such places the
obligation is mutual. Excursionists have no sort of claim upon private
houses, and should be glad to recompense with liberality the kindly
willingness to accommodate, save for which they might have to plod for
miles hungry and tired. Tea disposed of, we have a walk homewards
even more pleasing than the first, by taking, that is, the contrary or
Lancashire side of the river, and thus passing through the very woods
admired an hour previously from the hall and the crest of the hill.
The way is first over the stone bridge, then for a little distance up
the hill, descending thence into the field-path, found by means of a
large circular brick structure in one of the meadows, seemingly the
ventilation mouth of a coal-mine. There is a path quite close to the
river, if preferred, entered almost immediately after crossing the
bridge, but the water after wet weather is apt to be disagreeable,
and in autumn there is a thick and laborious jungle of butter-bur
leaves. The hill-side at this point is decidedly the best place for
viewing the hall, which crowns the tall cliff immediately in front of
it. It is hard to think, as we contemplate its lovely adjuncts, how
so romantic a site could have been deserted. The woods hanging the
hill-sides with their beautiful tapestry, the river creeping quietly
in the bottom, but seen only in shining lakelets where the branches of
the trees disentangle themselves, and make a green lacework of light
twig and leaf, just dense enough to serve as a thin veil, and just open
enough to let the eye pierce it and be delighted; the perfect calm
of the whole scene, and the sweet allurement of the path with every
additional step, how came they to be ignored? Approaching Reddish the
woods are unfenced, and the path lies almost beneath the trees. At the
end of May these woods are suffused with the brightest blue in every
direction,--the bloom of the innumerable wild hyacinth, which clusters
here in great banks and masses, so close that the green of the foliage
is concealed. The ground being a slope, and viewed from below, the
effect is most singular and striking. Shakspeare speaks of "making the
green one red;" here we have literally the green made blue. In the same
woods grows the forget-me-not, in abundance only exceeded in the Morley
meadows. One might almost fancy that the nymphs of ancient poetry had
been transmigrated into these sweet turquoise-coloured flowers. Among
the specialities of the Reddish valley, mentioned before as eminently
rich in plants of interest, are the bird-cherry, _Prunus Padus_, and
that curious fern the _Lunaria_. The first is quite a different thing
from the ordinary wild cherry of Mobberley, Peover, Lymm, and the
Bollin valley, having long, pendulous clusters of white flowers, like
those of the laburnum, and with a smell of honey. It is seen not only
as a tree, but sometimes forms part of the hedges. The lunaria grows
in the meadows, and is in perfection about the end of May. In August
and September the river-banks here are gay also with the fine crimson
of the willow-herb, the young shoots of which, along with the flowers,
drawn through the half-closed hand, leave behind them a grateful smell
of baked apples and cream.
The upper portion of the valley, nearer Hyde, was very diligently
and successfully explored in 1840-42 by Mr. Joseph Sidebotham, then
resident at Apethorne,--a townsman whom we have not more reason to be
proud of as a naturalist of the most varied and accurate information,
and as one of the most scientific and successful prosecutors of
microscopical research, than as a singularly skilful artist in
photography, and this without letting the colours grow dry upon the
palette from which he has been accustomed to transfer them to coveted
drawings. It was Mr. Sidebotham who first drew the attention of
Manchester naturalists to the fresh-water algæ of our district, and
who principally determined their forms and numbers. He also it was
who collected the principal portion known up to 1858 of the local
_Diatomaceæ_. During the five or six years he devoted to the botany
of Bredbury, Reddish, and the banks of the Tame generally, he added no
fewer than twenty-five species to the Manchester Flora, many of them
belonging to the difficult genera _Rubus_ and _Carex_. His walks were
not often solitary. What a broiling day was that on which we first
gathered in the Reddish valley the great white cardamine!--what a sweet
forenoon that vernal one when we stood contemplating the thousand
anemones! Nature seems to delight again in _upsetting_ everything
human! One cannot even bestow a name, but she tries to undermine it.
No epithet is more appropriate, as a rule, to this most modest of the
anemone race, the wild English one, than its specific name, nemorosa,
"inhabiting the groves;"--every reader of classical verse recalls,
as the eye glides over the word, the _nemus_ which grew greener
wherever Phyllis set her foot in it. Giving her the least chance, see,
nevertheless, how the wayward lady to whom we owe everything, laughs
alike at ourselves and our nomenclature. We call the flower nemorosa,
conclude that all is settled, and straightway, as in that sweet and
still forenoon in the Reddish valley (1840), she flings it by handfuls
over the sward, and leaves the grove as she then left the Arden woods,
without a blossom and without a leaf. Similar curious departure from
the accustomed habitat of the wood-anemone has since been observed at
Cheadle and at Alderley.
No slight pleasure is it in connection with botany that plants and
events thus link themselves together, recalling whole days of tranquil
happiness spent with valued friends in the green fields. Associations
with trees and flowers seem almost inevitably pleasant and graceful
ones; at all events, we never hear of the reverse. When orators and
poets want objects for elegant simile and comparison, they find
trees and flowers supply them most readily; and, on the other hand,
how rarely are these beautiful productions of nature used for the
illustration of what is vicious and degrading, or in any way mixed
up with what is vile and disgraceful. Trees and flowers lead us, by
virtue of their kindly influences on the heart and the imagination, to
a disrelish and forgetfulness of the uncomely, and to think better of
everything around us; so that a walk in the fields, over and above its
invigorating and refreshing value, acts as a kindly little preacher,
and shows us that we may at all events read, if not
_Honi soit qui mal y pense_, write,
In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white.
The lapse of twenty-four years has not tended to improve the aspect of
the Reddish valley. The main features are the same, but the brightness
is sadly dimmed. Everything now, in 1882, illustrates the operation
of town smoke and hurtful vapours, not to mention the devastating
influences which come of human travel. The wild-flowers have shared
the fate of those in other suburban localities; the old hall has
sunk further towards decay; the Inghams, happily, are extant. Mr.
Sidebotham, for his own part, practices, amid the refinements of his
Bowdon home, all that he cultivated originally upon the banks of the
little river, and with the added success that arises upon unbroken
assiduity. He tells me now of his researches into the entomology of
Dunham Park, where not long ago, for one or two successive seasons, in
July, a curious beetle occurred in plenty, a fact immensely remarkable,
since only one other of its kind has ever been noticed elsewhere in
England, this upon an oak in Windsor Forest as far back as 1829! The
insect was first detected by Mr. Joseph Chappell, a working mechanic at
Sir Joseph Whitworth's, and one of the most careful observers of nature
now in our midst.
* * * * *
The first photographs ever shown in Manchester were laid before a
meeting of the Literary and Philosophical Society by the late Mr. J.
E. Bowman, in November, 1838. I remember the occasion well, and the
interest taken in them by Dr. Dalton.
[Illustration]
[16: At which last-named place there is now also (1882) a
railway station.]
[Illustration]