PLACE NAMES
IN KENT.
BY
CANON J. W. HORSLEY,
_Late Vicar of Detling_.
Price 3/6 Net.
MAIDSTONE:
“South Eastern Gazette” Newspaper Co., Ltd.,
4, High Street.
1921.
INDEX
Page.
Place-names of Celtic Origin 9
Roman Names in Kent 17
Teutonic (Jutish) Names in Kent 20
Saxon or Jutish Suffixes 26
Some Common Saxon Elements in Place-names 29
The Northmen in Kent 42
The Islands of Kent 46
Variations in the Spelling of Place-names 49
Ecclesiastical Place-names 52
Place-names from Persons 54
Absurdities in Derivation 57
Our “Tons” and “Stones” 60
Our “Hams” 63
Our “Soles,” “Burys” and “Hithes” 68
Our “Cold Harbours” 71
Anderida 74
Land Divisions of Kent 78
INTRODUCTION.
When I was a school boy at Canterbury, in the fifties and sixties, my
first interest in philology was evoked by Trench on _The Study of
Words_, and by the more elaborate pioneer work, Isaac Taylor’s _Words
and Places_, while oral instruction was afforded by the lectures of Dean
Alford and the class teaching of my Headmaster, Mitchinson. All four of
these leaders having been clergymen, it is perhaps fitting that, at a
considerable distance, both of time and of ability, another cleric
should attempt to localize some of their general teaching.
Becoming aware in 1920 that there was no book dealing with the _Place
Names of Kent_, such as has been produced by individuals or small
committees in the case of some other counties, twenty in number; finding
also by correspondence that McClure, the author of _British Place Names
in Their Historical Setting_, says “Kent is one of the most difficult
regions in England to trace its topographical history,” I set to work to
read all I could that bore upon the subject. Especially when laid up by
an ailment, I read through twenty-six volumes of _Archælogia Cantiana_,
and found therein a productive quarry. Then, to facilitate the future
labours of those more competent to deal fully with the subject, I wrote
a series of weekly articles in the _South Eastern Gazette_ last winter,
which were found of interest, Mr. E. Salter Davies asking me to write
something for the _Kent Education Gazette_ to enlist the co-operation of
school teachers, and to remind them of the educational benefit to their
pupils of a study of local names.
In some parts of England and Wales this study of local place names has
been taken up with enthusiasm by teachers and scholars, and in this
connexion it should be noted that the names of every lane, house, and
field and wood, should be ascertained and recorded, even if no meaning
can be found. Names of this kind change, and the old folk who could say
why a name was given will not be always with us. “Terriers” and Tithe
Maps, which can be consulted, if not borrowed, will give more names than
ordinary maps.
To such enquiries we may be stimulated by shame when we know that Kent
is one of the counties without a work on its place names, and even more
by the fact that Norway has been at work in this direction since
1896—the Church and the State collaborating and a State grant helping in
the production of the nineteen volumes already published. So too, in
Sweden, a committee was appointed by Royal authority in 1901, and one
province has already been dealt with exhaustively. Denmark also from
1910, under the Ministry of Education, and with State grants, thus
recognised the linguistic and historico-archæological importance of such
studies.
And yet none of these enlightened and progressive kingdoms have anything
like the advantage that England possesses in its Saxon Charters and its
Domesday Book. More honour to them, more shame to us!
Let it be clearly understood, however, from the first that I am not
writing as an expert on these matters, nor as having a direct knowledge
of Celtic or of Saxon. All I have attempted has been simply to collect,
for the benefit of those who shall be attracted to the study of our
place-names as elucidating the ancient history of the County,
information from many sources which will save them the time and labour
of finding out for themselves whether a particular name is old enough to
be found in Domesday Book, or in later Saxon charters and wills; and
especially there has been in my mind the hope that a committee may be
appointed to deal as well with Kent as other Counties have been,
especially by the great Anglo-Saxon scholars, Professor Skeats,
Professor Craigie, of Oxford, and Professor Mawer, of Newcastle. For
such literary artizans and architects as I hope may shortly arise, I am
more than content to have been but a day labourer, a collector of
material which others may find worthy of scrutiny and perhaps of use.
[Illustration: decorative glyph]
PLACE NAMES IN KENT.
Place Names of Celtic Origin.
Men of Kent must not make too much of their county motto, _Invicta_. As
a matter of fact, we have been conquered at various times, and sometimes
before the rest of England succumbed to the invader. The aborigines, who
were probably somewhat like the Esquimeaux, a small race, having only
stone weapons and tools, lived on the fringe of the great glacier of the
last Ice Age (perhaps 50,000 years ago), which enabled one (though
doubtless no one tried) to walk from what is now Middlesex and Kent to
the North Pole; even the present North Sea being part of the great sheet
of ice which covered all our land down to the north bank of the Thames.
When climatic conditions altered for the better, England (to call it by
its much later name) became desirable to the great west-ward migration
of the Celts, who had already over-run all North Europe. This was the
first of the five great waves of peoples who from the East seized on
Europe, each driving its predecessor westward. The Celtic is, at any
rate, the first to be clearly traced. It was divisible into the Gadhelic
and the Cymric (or Brythonic) element, from the former the Erse, Gaelic,
and Manx languages being derived, and from the latter the Welsh and the
Breton (Ancient British and Gaulish, the Cornish, and probably the
Pictish).
The first branch is said to have passed into Britain about 800 B.C., and
the second about 630 B.C. Thenceforward, but for a few place-names,
chiefly of rivers and heights, and still fewer words which have survived
in our tongue, we know little until the visit of Julius Cæsar in B.C.
54, from whose _Gallic War_ we learn of some of the Celtic tribe-names
and place-names. Otherwise we know little apart from the river roots
which we find all over N. Europe (and hardly any in England are
non-Celtic), especially the five main words for river or
water—Afon—Dur—Esk—Rhe—and Don.
Kent itself in the earliest records is found as Ceant from the Celtic
Cenn—a head or headland, which again appears on the other side of our
land as the Mull of Cantire. We have also our Chevening, which, like
Chevenage, embodies the Celtic Cefn—ridge (still Cefn in Welsh). And
“Kits Coty House” on our neighbouring Down gives us Ked—a hollow, and
Coit—a wood, i.e., the hollow dolmen in the wood. Mote Park sounds
modern enough to some; but our “park” is the Celtic parwyg, an enclosed
place, while the much later Anglo-Saxon Mote denotes a place of local
assembly. Dun was their word for a hill-fort, and so we have Croydon
(with a Saxon prefix) for the fortress on the chalk range, though most
of the old British fortresses which preserved the name when occupied by
Romans or Saxons are in other counties. Penshurst, on the other hand,
has a Saxon suffix to the Celtic Pen, still unchanged in Welsh as
meaning a head or hill, perhaps only a dialectic form of the Gaelic
Ceann, or Ken, which we have already noted in “Kent.”
As to whether the names of Romney and Romney Marsh have a Celtic
element, opinions differ. Isaac Taylor, in his _Words and Places_, has
little doubt that they come “from the Gaelic ruimne,” a marsh, and
instances Ramsey, in the Fens, as coming from the same source, and finds
it also in Ramsgate, i.e., the passage through an opening in the cliffs
to the marshes behind. But he wrote in 1864, and in some respects is
considered too imaginative by modern philologists. Ruim is undoubtedly
the British name of Thanet—Ruoihm, or Ruoichim—preceding Tenit,
Tenitland, Thanet—so perhaps the situation of Ramsgate in Thanet is all
we have to consider. McClure ignores “ruimne” as a derivation; but does
not explain the Rumin as a name of the district. The oldest English form
is in a charter of 697 A.D. Rumining—seta, i.e., the dwellings of the
people of Rumin, and he inclines (though admitting it may be
far-fetched) to derive from “Roman,” since the whole region is full of
Roman associations. Our common suffix “den,” for a deep wooded valley,
gives us probably a Celtic word adopted by the conquering Jutes. Perhaps
the explanation for so few Celtic names of places having survived is
accounted for by the thoroughness with which the invading Jutes either
slew or drove far westwards the Celts, and so re-named whatever
settlements they made. Thus, in 452 A.D., according to the _Saxon
Chronicle_, Hengist slew 4,000 Britons at Crayford, and these must have
formed a large proportion of the population, and this was only one of a
series of victories which drove the Celts backward into the far west.
Purely Celtic Kent was prehistoric; Romano-Celtic it was from B.C. 55 to
A.D. 413, and yet marvellously little remains of either element.
This mighty race has left us little record, though its language survives
in Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. In Maidstone Museum we can study its
weapons, its ornaments, and its methods of sepulture; but in our walks
in Kent we are rarely reminded of its long, as well as ancient,
occupation of the soil. Yet in what we might consider the purest English
some undoubtedly Celtic words survive, such as basket, crook, kiln,
fleam, barrow, ashlar, rasher, mattock, bran, gown, flannel.
Availing myself of what has been written by Celtic or Saxon scholars, I
turn to the river names of Kent, of which some are obviously Celtic and
others as obviously Saxon.
Ash.—The western branch of the Stour is so named, and Ashford was
anciently Esshetsford. Rivers have sometimes been named from the trees
on their banks, and besides our Ash-ford, we find elsewhere Ashbrook and
Ashbourne; though the common Celtic esk for water or river may also be
considered. In this connection I note that in a direct line we have near
Detling, Boxley, Thornham, Hollingbourne (Anglo-Saxon Holeyn is holly),
possibly Bearsted from the Saxon Berc for birch, and Ashford from Aesc,
our ash.
Brook.—This later, or English, name for a small stream appears only as a
termination. We have Cranbrook, a reminder, like Cranbourne elsewhere,
of the time when cranes were not uncommon in England. These are the
places: Brook, a village on a tributary of the Stour; Brookland, near a
branch of the Rother; and Brook Street, near Woodchurch. And may not
Kidbrooke, or Kedbrook, be “the brook from the Coed”—the Celtic word for
a wood?
Bourne.—The Anglo-Saxon Burne for stream appears not only in the Bourne
and Bourne Park, and the various Nail-bournes, or intermittently flowing
brooks, but also in Bekesbourne, Bishopsbourne, Patrixbourne,
Littlebourne, the Ravensbourne, Hollingbourne, Brabourne (the broad
bourne), Northbourne, and perhaps Sittingbourne, although this is on a
creek rather than a brook.
Cray.—From the Saxon Cregga, a small brook, a tributary of the Darent or
Derwent. In 457 A.D. Hengist and his son Æsc (Ash, or, metaphorically,
ship) slew 4,000 Britons at Crecganford, and drove the rest out of Kent
to Lundenbyrg (London). So the _Saxon Chronicle_ records. Another old
chronicler calls this the battle of the Derwent. The valley of the Cray
contains the villages of Crayford, St. Paul’s (probably S. Paulinus’)
Cray, St. Mary’s Cray, Foot’s Cray, and the district is commonly called
the Crays.
Darent.—Like Dover’s Dour, from the Celtic root Dur for water or river,
comes the Der-went, of which Darent is a variation. Dwr-gwyn in Welsh is
the clear water. There are four Derwents in England, besides Lake
Derwent Water. Dartford is the ford of the Darent.
Dour.—The living Celtic tongues of Wales, Ireland and Scotland preserve
the Celtic Dur—Dwr in Welsh, Dur in Gælic and Erse. There are other
Dours in Fife and Aberdeen, and the Dover or Dur-beck in Notts, and in
Sussex the Roman itinerary gives Portum Adurni, whence it has been
assumed that there was an Adour river. But Prichard gives forty-four
ancient names containing this root in Italy, Germany, Gaul, and Britain.
Eden.—The Eden, on which is Edenbridge, is a tributary of the Medway.
Various rivers of this name are found also in Cumberland, Yorks, Fife
and Roxburgh, containing the Celtic root Dan, Don, or Den, for water or
river.
Lee.—This is a brook rising at Eltham Place, and giving its name to Lee
Street and Lee, thence flowing to Lewisham. The more important river Lea
on the opposite side of the Thames is called Lygan in the _Saxon
Chronicle_. In Essex also there is the Lea-beck, which shows a Celtic
name with a suffix attributable to the Danish marauders whose becks are
more common in the north of England. The dropping of the last syllable
of Lygan would give the Lee.
Len.—This short tributary of the Medway has been neglected by writers on
place-names; but it might be the Celtic Levn, smooth, as in Loch Leven
and three rivers of that name in Scotland, besides others in
Gloucestershire, Yorks, Cornwall, Cumberland, and Lancashire.
Medway.—The first syllable is adjectival, like the Tam (broad or still)
in Tamesa or Thames, and is the Celtic Mwg, vapour, whence our “muggy.”
The second is from a varying Celtic root, represented in Welsh by gwy or
wy, for water. Most of the river-names from this root are in Wales; but
besides the Medway there is the Solway, on the Scottish border, and such
names as Weymouth and Weybridge. In the _Saxon Chronicle_ it is spelled
Medewægan. Worth recording (if only to discard them) are some
derivations given in Ferguson’s _River Names_. Writing in 1862 (since
when some study has been more scientific), he gives the suggestion of
the German, Grimm, that the name refers to a cup of mead overturned by a
river god! Also that Gibson’s _Etymological Geography_ derives it from
the Latin medius because the river flows through the middle of Kent! and
this, says Gibson, is the usual acceptation. Ferguson throughout has
Sanscrit on the brain, and so refers us to a Sanscrit root, mid, to
soften, and thinks it named from its gentle flow. But which of our
Kentish rivers are not gentle?
Quaggy.—One of the two brooks at Lewisham. Quag may be the same as Quag
in quagmire, and the second syllable the Anglo-Saxon “ea” for water or
river, cognate with the old High German “aha” and the Latin “aqua.” In
Rosetti’s poem we find “I fouled my feet in quag-water.”
Ravensbourne.—When Teutonic colonists or invaders, dispossessing the
Celts, inquired the name of a stream, they took the Celtic word to be a
proper instead of a common name, and so added their own name for water
or river. Later, when the English tongue was evolved, “water” was
sometimes added to the Celtic, or Celtic-plus-Saxon, name. Thus, in
Wansbeck-water, Wan is Alfon and Evon; S is a vestige of the Gadhelic
visge; Beck is the Norse addition; and Water the later English when it
was forgotten what Wansbeck meant. Thus our present name means
River-water-river-water! So Ravensbourne (interpreted inanely in a
Lewisham print by a legend of a raven and a bone) is really the Celtic
Avon, with the Saxon addition of Bourne, so common in Kent for stream.
Rother.—A mainly Sussex stream which forms part of the boundary of Kent.
It is said to be the Celtic Rhud-dwr—that is Red Water.
Stour.—There are other rivers of this name in Suffolk, Dorset,
Warwickshire, and Worcestershire, besides the Stör in Holstein, the
Stura, a tributary of the Po, and the Stura (now the Store) in Italy,
all probably named from the union of two Celtic words for water, Is and
Dwr. Some regard it as merely the intensitive of Dwr, as in Welsh the
prefix Ys is used to intensify. Note that a unique river name is a
rarity.
Swale.—Bede, the Saxon historian, writes of the baptisms by S. Paulinus,
in the Sualua. This is the Swale, which makes Sheppey an island. There
are the East and the West Swale and Swalecliff, and the origin may be
from the Anglo-Saxon Swellan, to swell. There are other Swales in
Britain and Germany.
Thames.—This means the Broad, or Still, Water, from the Celtic adjective
Tam and the root Is for water, which is reduplicated in the name Isis
for the river at Oxford, higher than where the Thames falls into it.
There is a river Tame in four of our counties.
Wantsum.—This much-dwindled stream separates Thanet from the mainland,
and is called Wantsumu by Bede. The word is said to be not Celtic (as
are most river names here and on the Continent); but Teutonic. Want or
Went, meant a Way, and Som had the same qualifying force as in the word
“winsome,” that is, equivalent to the “able” in “lovable.” There is a
Wensum, a tributary of the Yare, near Norwich. While in early days the
north branch of the Stour by Thanet was not fordable, this water was
“go-able”—to coin a word. The “way” is not necessarily a water way. At
Ightham, Seven Vents is the name of a place where seven roads meet.
Yenlade or Yenlet.—“Applied by Lewis to the north and south mouths of
the estuary of the Wantsum, which made Thanet an island. The A.S.
gen-lad means a discharging of a river into the sea, or a smaller river
into one larger.” Ladan or hladan means to load or lade. Lambarde wrote
in 1570 “Yenlade or yenlet betokeneth an Indraught or Inlett of water
into the land.” There are two or three places of this name in the mouth
of the Thames. Yantlet Creek is in the Isle of Grain.
Beult.—The final t is not found in the earliest records I have seen,
where the name is Beule. One of our best Kent archæologists suggests the
Saxon verb Beauland, to turn or twist, as the origin. I think, however,
we may go further back and find no exception to the rule that most of
our rivers were named by the Celts, for I find the Erse or Irish Buol or
Biol for water, and in addition to Continental rivers which contain this
root there is the Buil (now called the Boyle) in Ireland, the Beela in
Westmorland, and the Beauly in Inverness.
Roman Names in Kent.
The first appearance of Kent in history is in the Gallic War of Julius
Cæsar, who paid us the compliment of saying, _Ex his omnibus, longe sunt
humanissimi qui Cantium incolunt_, on which Shakespeare wrote, “Kent in
commentaries Cæsar writ, Is termed the civil’st place in all the isle.”
Of his presence here, however, the only relic is perhaps more in the
realm of legend than of history. There is a mound or barrow at Chilham
known as Julaber’s or Juliberry’s grave, which has been referred to
Julius Laberius, an officer of Julius Cæsar, slain in a battle here
against the British Celts. Julius Cæsar left our shores 54 B.C., and our
history is a blank until A.D. 43 (roughly for a hundred years) when the
Emperor Claudius came to conquer us, in which campaign Titus took a
part, who in A.D. 70 captured Jerusalem—as later some Detling young men
entered Jerusalem under General Allenby! Kent and the Thames tribes were
first conquered, and in the occupation of Britain from A.D. 43 to A.D.
418 it was the rest of the country which gave military work to the
Romans.
Considering this long occupation, ended only by the necessary recall of
the troops to defend falling Rome, it is surprising that so few
place-names, not only in Kent but anywhere, are attributable to our
masters. Those usually instanced are Speen (anciently Spinæ, thorns);
Pontefract (the broken bridge); Chester (Castra, a camp), with its later
derivations, the Anglian Caster and the Saxon Chester; and Caerleon
(Castra Legionum—the camp of the Legions); and of these not one is in
Kent. The chief centres of the sparse population, and the natural
landmarks of rivers and mountains, preserved the names given earlier by
the Celts, while our villages with few exceptions are Scandinavian or
Teutonic, otherwise Norse or Saxon. Prof. Green, in his _History of the
English People_, is doubtless right in saying that “only in the great
towns were the Britons Romanized. The tribes of the rural districts
remained apart, speaking their own tongue and owing some traditional
allegiance to their native chiefs.”
Kent had more than its share of the mighty road-making of Rome; more
than its share (except in the turbulent northern boundary of England) of
Roman military stations; but though the roads remain, forts are only
bits of ruins or foundations, and the names have perished or been
changed. So, too, in Kent were most of the nine Roman ports put under
the jurisdiction of the Comes Littoris Saxonici. In the Antonine
Itinerary of the fourth century the route from the Northern Wall in
Dumfriesshire to our Richborough has as its last station Londonio
(London), Noviomago (site unknown), 10 miles; Vigniacis (? Springhead),
18 miles; Durobrivis (Rochester), 9 miles; Durolevo (? near
Sittingbourne), 13 miles; Duroverno (Canterbury), 12 miles; and Rutupis
(Richborough), 12 miles. In no case has the Roman name survived, with
the exception of the twisted Rutupis, for Lundon-ium is the old name
adopted by the Romans. Other routes add Dubris (Dover), 14 miles from
Duroverno, and Portus Limanis (Lympne), 16 miles from Dubris. Where we
find Street it is, of course, the Saxon form of the Roman Strata Via,
_i.e._, paved road, and so our Kentish Stone Street ran from the
fortified port (as it was then, though inland now) of Lympne to
Canterbury; and Watling Street (the name still surviving in London and
Canterbury) from their other fortified ports of Rutupiæ (Richborough) to
Canterbury, London, Stony Stratford, and Chester. But Watling is not
Latin, and in the _Saxon Chronicle_ the name is Wæclingastræt. So, too,
the Well Street which ran from Maidstone into the Weald—with no definite
end—is the road in the Wald, or Weald, forest. We may perhaps add the
places ending in “hall” as a relic of the Roman aula. These are more
common in Thanet and Romney Marsh than elsewhere, and in both these
places Romans had much to do.
The names given to the two Roman fortresses which guarded the Wantsum
(then an important water way), Regulbium and Rutupiæ, were hard for
Saxon lips, and so were changed into Raculf-cestre, whence Reculvers,
and Repta-caester, later Ratesburgh, whence our Richborough. So also the
Roman name of Rochester—Durobrevis (the stronghold of the bridges)
became in Saxon times, Roribis, then Hrofibrevi. This was shortened into
Hrofi, which again was later assumed to be the name of a man, and so
Bede (twelve hundred years ago) gives us Hrofes-cæster, whence our
Rochester.
Chislet, however, earlier Cistelet, probably preserves the Roman
Casteletum, a small castle or camp. And Cheriton (there are others in
other counties) is said to be derived as to its first two syllables from
cerasus, cherry, the Romans having introduced this tree about A.D. 60.
They also brought the plum—prunes—and so we get our Plumstede for
Plumstead, adjoining Woolwich, and Plumford, in Ospringe.
Also where Wick as a termination is not the Scandinavian Wic or Bay, and
so a coastal name, it comes from the Latin Vicus, a row of houses, and
is the Saxonised form. Thus our West Wickham, Wickhambreux, Sheldwich,
and so forth, record how the Saxons adopted but changed the name given
by the Romans. McClure suggests that Faversham (Fefres-ham in 811,
Febresham in 858, and Faversham in Domesday) may be a survival of the
Latin Faber, smith, in the most Latinized part of Kent, and on their
chief road. The first part of the word is plainly a genitive case, and
there seems to be no similar Saxon designation.
On the Continent, as well as in England, the name Ventum, or Venta, is
the Latin for a market or sale place. Venta Silurum, for example, has
now as its neighbour Chepstow, _i.e._, Ceapstow, the Market. Having
lived for eight years as a boy in Wincheap, outside the walls of
Canterbury, it occurs to me that Win may be Ven from Ventum, while cheap
gives the Saxon synonym. Its earlier forms are Wencheape, Wyndcheps, and
Wincheapfield. Of course, it looks like winemarket, but would the Romans
have had one? And, if so, would it not have been within the walls? On
the other hand, vineyards—probably first started by the Romans—were not
uncommon much later in Kent, several near Maidstone, and one’s
estimation of the pleasantness of wine from outdoor grapes is increased
by finding in old charters that in some cases tenants were bound to
bring to an abbot or a lord of the manor “a bushel of blakenberis.” This
would sweeten and colour the English port!
Few, indeed, are the verbal relics of the Romans, though they were here
for 400 years. While the earlier Celts have bequeathed to us many words
and names, but few works, the Romans left us few words but some mighty
works.
Teutonic (Jutish) Names in Kent.
The Romans who had conquered, ruled, and exploited our land for four
centuries, departed in A.D. 411, owing to the dire necessity of
defending their own land against the Goths from Northern Europe. Already
here they had been attacked and pressed southwards by the Picts of the
Highlands, aided by the Scots of Ireland. To avoid Pictish conquest the
Britons offered land and pay to the English, who up to then had been
aiding the Picts.
Who were these English? A long peninsula runs northwards (as few do)
from Denmark, and separates the North Sea from the Baltic. Herein, our
real home or cradle, dwelt three tribes of the Low German stock, Angles,
Jutes, and Saxons, and as to Kent it was the Jutes from Jutland who,
under Hengist and Horsa, in A.D. 449, landed at Ebbsfleet in Thanet, as
did others in the Isle of Wight, the Islands in both cases forming a
great naval and military station, from which the hinterlands of Kent and
Hants could be overrun. The later, and larger, seizures of the Saxons
were all the southern counties, Essex, Sussex, Middlesex, and Wessex,
while the sphere of the Angles spread upwards from what we still call
East Anglia. Quarrels with these mercenaries arose as to pay, and the
Britons of Kent resolved to fight. Hrofesceastre was too strong, and so
southward turned Hengist along the Celtic country by Kits Coty House,
and then swooped down on Aylesford and won a battle which meant the
winning of England. Horsa fell in the moment of victory, and the flint
heap of Horsted preserves his name, and has been held to mark his grave.
Kentish landowners fled to France; the British labourers to the vast
forest; churches gave no sanctuary, for the heathen Jutes raged most
against the clergy.
And so for two centuries the war of dispossession and slaughter went on,
until Britain was a land, not of Britons, but of Englishmen (Angles, or
Anglo-Saxons, as they are also called), while even of their language, as
we have seen, few words lingered. Six years later the shore-castles of
Dover, Richborough, and Lympne succumbed. Then, in A.D. 447, another
tribe, the Saxons, came for a share in the goodly spoil, overran
Anderida, the fortress of the great forest, and “slew all that were
herein, nor was there afterwards one Briton left,” at any rate, in Kent.
This Saxon, or strictly speaking, Jutish, invasion has given us most of
our blood, and the greater part of our tongue, our territorial
divisions, most names of places, and those of the days of the week.
Following the conquerors came colonists, and in the Saxon districts of
England (and Kent is the most Saxon of all) we find the names, not of
individual immigrants, but of families or clans. These family
settlements are denoted by the termination _ing_, which was the usual
Anglo-Saxon patronymic, corresponding to our later “son” in Johnson,
etc. So the sons of Charles Brown, who died in Detling, would in earlier
days be called the Brownings—as the progeny of a duck are ducklings, and
of a goose goslings. It has been held that when the suffix ham or ton is
added it denotes a filial colony or offshoot from the original
settlement of the clan. There are between two and three thousand places
in England which contain the root “ing,” although some (mainly in the
north) come from a Norse and substantive “eng” or “ing” which means
meadow. Kemble makes 22 original settlements in Kent, and 29 filial
offshoots, whereas the western or northern counties have no original,
although, between them, 169 filial settlements.
If we may thus distinguish two classes of place names which survive in
Kent, we have the Bobbings at Bobbing, the Hôcings at Hucking, the
Harlings at Harling, the Boerlings at Barling, the Berlings at Birling,
the Bollings at Bowling, the Garlings at Garlinge, the Hallings at
Halling, the Hircelings at Hecklinge, the Horings at Herringe, the
Mollings at Mailing, the Wealings at Welling, the Beltings at Beltring,
the Cerrings at Charing, the Petlings at Pedling, the Wickings at
Witchling, the Bermarings at Barming. In one case, however, an
individual is commemorated in a place-name—Hemmings Bay, near Margate,
is the scene of the landing of a Danish chieftain in 1009 A. D. There
were many Saxons in Thanet under Roman rule (as interments have shown),
but few place names are found there of the patronymic kind, the
exceptions being Garlinge, Birchington, Halling Court, Osinghelle,
Ellington, and Newington—of which some are doubtful. What about Detling?
one of my readers may say. I inclined for some time to the meaning deep
meadow (as Deptford is the deep fiord or bay), in allusion to its
position between the vast forest above and the extensive marshes below;
but Mr. McClure will not hear of “ing” a meadow, in the South of
England, and one Oxford Professor of Anglo-Saxon writes me as follows:
“The evidence for ing ‘meadow,’ south of Lincolnshire is so scanty or
dubious that it would require pretty strong evidence to establish its
recurrence in Kent place-names.” In that case one must fall back upon a
Saxon ancestor, and lately in Maidstone were found both Major D’Aeth and
Mr. De’Ath, whose families would be Deathlings in early Saxon days.
Then, of offshoots, we have in Kent the Ælingtons at Allington, the
Ellings at Ellington, the Aldings at Aldington, the Eorpings at
Orpington, the Bennings at Boddington, the Gillings at Gillingham, the
Cennings at Kennington, the Cosings at Cossington, the Dodings at
Doddington, the Dœfings at Davington, the Leasings at Lossenham, the
Pœfings at Pevington, the Syfings at Sevington, the Wickings at
Wickinghurst, the Lodings at Loddington, the Ellings at Ellington, the
Bosings at Bossingden (and Bossenden), the Adings at Addington, the
Œslings at Ashlingham, and possibly the Beecings at Birchington and
Beckenham. As illustrating the westward migration of the Teutonic race
we may note, to take one clan, that, starting from Germany, the Hemings
name Hemingen in Germany, Hemminghausen in Westphalia, Hemingstadt in
Holstein, Heming in Lorraine and in Alsace, Hemington in
Northamptonshire and Somerset, and Hemingbrough in Yorks.
It may help some in their enquiry into the origin of place-names if I
note that of old, and by Saxon lips, the vowel “e” was pronounced like
our “a.” So, in the case of Berfreystone, Berham, Bernefield, Chert,
Chertham, Crey, Dertford, Esseherst, Essetlesford, Freningham,
Herietsham, Herty, Hertleye, Hese, Mergate, Remmesgate, Reyersh,
Smeredenne, and Werehorne—the vowel sound remaining although the vowel
was changed when, for example, Hese became our Hayes. And another point
is that in the Kentish dialect th (a separate character in Saxon) often
becomes d, _e.g._, gardering for gathering, and dare and dem for there
and them. This still survives in remote places and aged persons. So
Beddersden for Bethersden.
I may here add some instances of what in some cases aids, and in other
cases hinders, a knowledge of the origin and meaning of a
place-name—that is the very various ways in which the name has been
spelled. Generally, the earlier the form the better guide to the
meaning. It will be found that spelling was often so vague that even a
lawyer in writing an old record or will may spell a name differently in
the same document, and in most cases in mediæval times the sound of the
word ruled its spelling. Some examples of multiform names in Kent I give
here.
Edenbridge.—Edeling-bridge, 1225, Ethonbrigge 1457, Edonbregge 1473,
Edinbregg and Edingbregg 1483, Etonbrigge 1499, Etonbreg 1528,
Etonbridge 1534, Edulwestbridge 1539, with other forms of which I have
not noted the dates, Edelmesbrigge, Pons Edelmi. The bridge element is
clear throughout, but it would also seem that the old name of the river
Eden was the Edel. Of this there may be evidence which I have not yet
come across.
Bethersden in its earliest form is Beatrichesdenne (1194), which, on the
analogy of other places, would seem to point to the church being
dedicated to a local S. Beatrice; but at the same date, and since, its
patron saint was S. Margaret. Possibly an heiress Beatrice held the
manor, as Patrixbourne is called, not from the saint of the Church, but
from one who held the manor, which in Domesday was simply called Bourne.
Later I find Beterisdenne 1389, Betrycheden 1468, Betresden 1535,
Beatherisden 1552, and later Beathersden, Beddersden (by Kent dialect
change of th into d), and Bethersden.
Charing is Ciorminege in a Saxon charter of 799 A.D., which proved too
hard for old English or middle English mouths, so that one finds many
later variants, such as Cheerynge 1396, Carings, Cerringes (and
Cherinche in Domesday Book 1036), Cherrving (temp. Edw. 3rd), and at
last Charing in 1505.
Cuxton, probably derived from a personal name, like Cuckfield in Sussex,
is Codestane in Domesday, Coklestone 1472, Cokston 1503, Cokynston 1533,
Coxston 1538, Cokestone 1559, and Codstan, Coklestane, Colestane,
Cukelstane, and Cookstone in other documents.
Goodneston, near Ash and Wingham, is no doubt Goodwin’s Town, and once
had the name of “Godstanstone-les-Elmes, alias Nelmes, near Wingham.” In
1208 it was Gutsieston, but in 1512 had settled down into Godenston,
previous variations having been Goldstaneston, Gounceston, Groceston,
Gusseton, and Guston.
Saxon or Jutish Suffixes.
In the earliest days of which we have knowledge all Kent was practically
either forest or marsh, with a little cornland in Thanet and sheep
pastures in Sheppey, and it was plainly on the edges of the forests
(Blean and Anderida running right across the county from Whitstable to
Cranbrook) that the early settlers from Jutland made their homes. Like
pioneer backwoodsmen in Canada and elsewhere, they had first to clear of
trees, and then to fence, the spot each family had chosen. For 25 years
I have passed annually through the agricultural districts of Belgium,
Alsace, Lorraine, and Switzerland (and sometimes France), and two things
always strike me—that English agriculturists are not on the whole so
thrifty, so tidy, or so hardworking, as their Continental brethren, and
that abroad they seem to have neither need nor desire for hedges or
other fences. Our colonists in England, however, show in place-names how
necessary they thought enclosures to be.
First there is the ubiquitous “_ton_” as a suffix. The sons of Ælla, the
Ellings, made their Ellington. Now “ton” means an enclosure, and
especially enclosed land with a dwelling thereon. Then it comes to
signify the house on the enclosure. In Scotland even now the “toun” is
the farmhouse and outbuildings, and in Kent I find in a charter of 1432
a conveyance of “land with all Houses ... called Wattyshagh, formerly
called Taune.” Then, as the original house became a nucleus, and a
hamlet swelled into a village, and a village into a town, we got our
modern sense of the word, which, however, is later than the Norman
conquest.
Even earlier than “ton” would be “_field_,” which is not the same as lea
or mead, but denotes a patch of felled or cleared land. So we have our
Chelsfield, Oakfield, Ifield, Broomfield, Whitfield, Swingfield,
Fairfield, Hothfield, Stalisfield, Clexfield, Longfield, Fieldgreen, and
Netherfield, in the more forestal part of Kent, while in the list of
parishes in the Rochester diocese, where marsh and down prevailed, I
find only one parish—Matfield—which suggests old felling of trees.
Sometimes, however, there would be attractive glades or _leys_ on the
outskirts of the forest, already pastured or cultivated to a certain
extent. Hence arose not only place-names, but nick-names (sur-names came
much later) of persons who lived or worked therein, such as John of the
Horse Ley, John of the Cow Ley, John of the Sheep Ley, John of the Swine
Ley, which later became surnames. Isaac Taylor enumerates 22 leys in
Central Kent, but one cannot test his figures without knowing what map
he used. Hence as place-names our Hartley, Swanley, Langley, Bromley,
Oakley or Ockley, Hockley, Bickley, Whitley, Boxley, Mydley, Barley,
Brenchley, Elmley, Ripley, Angley, Beverley, Gorseley Wood, Harley,
Pluckley, Throwley, Bexley, Leybourne, Shirley, Kelmsley, Ridley,
Tudeley, etc.
Then there were, and are, the _Dens_, forty-two of them in Central Kent,
says Isaac Taylor; but Mr. Furley, in his _Weald of Kent_, says that the
great manor of Aldington alone possessed forty-four dens. It was
probably a Celtic word adopted by the Saxons, and designated a wooded
valley mostly used for swine pasture. So we have the Ardenne forest in
France and Belgium, and elsewhere in England Henley in Arden and the
Forest of Arden, which stretched from Gloucestershire to Nottingham.
Down to the 17th century the “Court of the Dens” was held at Aldington,
near Hythe, to determine pasture rights and wrongs.
One cannot enumerate all the Kentish dens which might be found not only
on the map but in old manorial records. In old Tenterden alone there
were Pittesden, Igglesden, Strenchden, Godden, Gatesden, Bugglesden,
Finchden, Twisden, Lovedene, Haffendene, Brissendene, Haldene, and
Little Haldene as manors, of some of which even the names have departed.
I find that of the 16 parishes in the rural deanery of West Charing
eight end in den and five in hurst, and I think Furley is in error when
he says that only 16 extant parishes (as distinct from manors) in Kent
end in den. A small original settlement in a den might soon increase in
size even in early Saxon times, and so we have several parishes and
manors called Denton. Other local place-names which are due to their
position in the old forest land are those which end in _hyrst_ or,
later, hurst. Hursts and Cherts were the denser parts of the forest, and
the word is said to apply specially to wooded high ground. The two words
may be originally the same, with the old German Hart (whence the Hartz
mountains), as parent. So we have Bredhurst, Goudhurst, Hawkhurst, Hurst
Wood near Peckham, Penshurst, Sandhurst, Staplehurst, Chart, and two or
three score more.
Another forest name is _Holt_ or Hot—more common in Surrey than in Kent.
The German is Holtz, which means both a wood and wood the material. It
is also a common prefix or suffix in Iceland. Isaac Taylor gives us only
one Holt in his table, for Central Kent at any rate, but we know
Knockholt beeches, Birchholt near Smeeth, an Acholt (Oakwood) in each of
the manors of Dartford, Wingham, and Monkton, and Hot Wood; while
further study is necessary to determine whether from Holt or from Hoath
or Hoth (a heath) come Hothfield, Oxenhoath, and Hoath or Hoad near
Reculver. “Another common suffix in the neighbourhood of ancient
forests,” says Isaac Taylor, “is Hatch—a hitch-gate, Hêche in French.”
He gives no example from Kent, but we know our Chartham Hatch, Ivy
Hatch, and Mersham Hatch and Snoll Hatch. _Wold_ or Weald, a wood, is
not so common as one would expect, but we have Sibertswold and
Wymynswold, and Waltham and Waldershare. _Snœd_ is a Saxon word for a
piece of wood in 8th century charters, and this survives in Hamersnoth
near Romney, Nod Wall near Lydd, Frisnoth near Appledore, Sibersnode in
the Hundred of Ham, Snode Hill, Snodehurst, Snodland, and Snodebeam, a
manor in Yalding.
Some Common Saxon Elements in Place-Names.
—HAM = Ham means homestead, but—hamm an enclosure or bend in a river,
the former being the more common. It is only by early Saxon documents
that we can tell which word is meant. Alkham for the first, perhaps the
Hundred of Ham for the latter.
—ING, in the middle or end of a name means “sons of.” A final ling is
also a patronymic when the name ends in ol or ele. Thus Donnington is
the settlement of the sons of Donna, and as Didling or Dudelyng in
Sussex (with 13th century forms of Dedling and Dedlinge) was derived
from Dyddeling as descendants of Dyddel, this may throw some light on
Detling in Kent.
—MERE = lake, or gemæru boundary. Lakes are few in Kent, so Baddlesmere
may indicate a boundary, while Mereworth (anciently Marewe) may indicate
neither. Mearesflete in Thanet, and Mere, a manor in Rainham, may point
to a personal name. Walmer is said to be named from the marshy ground
behind the Wall, or old raised beach, which begins by Walmer Castle.
Brōc = a brook, as in the dialects of Kent and Sussex, also low-lying
ground, not necessarily with running water. So Brook, and Brookland, and
Kidbrook.
Burna = stream. So Bourne, Littlebourne, etc.
Cnoll = hillock (Cnol in Welsh and knöl in Swedish). So Knole, and
perhaps Knockholt.
Cop = a top or head, German kopf. Our Copt Point.
Cumb, or comb = a hollow in a hillside, or a narrow valley. So Ulcombe.
A word borrowed from the Celtic.
Dell = low ground or valley. Hence Deal.
Ēā = water, river. So Stur-ea, now Sturry, or watery land. So probably
Romney, from Ruimea. But ey also is īēg, or ēg = an island. Sceapige,
now Isle of Sheppey.
Denu is a valley, and denn a retreat, but these often interchange in
early forms with dun, which survives in our downs, and Down, the
village.
Ford.—Here we have to distinguish between the Saxon ford (a natural
place-name when bridges as yet were few), and fiord, which is purely
coastal, and comes from our Norse marauders. Thus Ashford and Deptford
come from quite different words.
Grāf, in Saxon, is our grove, so that Ashgrove is pure Saxon, Æsc-graf.
Heall means a hall, or larger house, and may be simply the Latin aula,
especially as place-names ending in hall are more frequent near Roman
centres. But there is also halk, a corner or angle, which may suit other
places. Our several Whitehalls would indicate the former word.
The Saxon HEATH survives unaltered in some cases, and also as Hoath, and
perhaps as Hoth in Hothfield.
Hlinc, a slope, accounts for the Linch and Linchfield in Detling, a
cultivated slope at the foot of the Downs. More common in Sussex.
Golfers will recognise the word.
Hōh = a hough or heel of land, whence our Hundred of Hoo.
Hyrcg is our ridge, and names Eridge, and Colbridge, and Sundridge.
Hyll = our hill, partly names many places, Bosehill, Hinxhill, Maze
Hill, Ide Hill, etc.; but I think there are more in Sussex, where
Roberts enumerates forty-eight.
Mersc = march—whence Stodmarsh, Burmarsh, Mersham, Westmarsh, Marshton.
Ofer and Ora are difficult to distinguish in use, the former meaning
bank or shore and the latter bank of a stream. Bilnor and Oare may come
from the former, and Bicknor and Denover (on the Beult) from the latter.
Ell, WIELL, WYLL, as a prefix, becomes our well.
Wudu = wood. So Saltwood is Sautwud in 1230.
Beorg = a hill, dative beorge, is easily confused with Burg = bush,
dative byrg, a fortified place, and then a city. From the former we get
our modern beogh, ber or barrow; from the latter our prefix Bur, and the
suffixes borough, burg, boro, and bury. The first syllable of Bearsted
may be either Beorg or Beorc, birch. Canterbury is the burg or fortified
city of the Cantwara or Kent-folk.
Hlu = a burial mound, developing later into the suffix low, lane, and
lew, may be found in Hadlow, and perhaps in the Hundreds of Ryngelo and
Cornilo in the Lathe of Borowart (now S. Augustine’s).
Considering the mainly forestal character of Saxon Kent, it is not
strange that many places are named from trees. Thus Ac = oak, appears in
Ockholt, Ackhanger, Ockley. Æsc in Ashford, Ashhurst, and several Ashes.
Our Nursted was Nutstede earlier. Perhaps to Ac also we may refer
Hocker’s Lane in Detling as a prefix to another Saxon word, ofer, a
shore or bring, though it may also be but a corruption of Oakham. In
numerous place-names, especially those derived from trees, we find this
suffix: Oakover (in Derbyshire), Ashover, Haselover, Birchover, commonly
shortened into Oaker, Asher, Hasler, and Bircher. So the lane near the
oak-tree or oak-wood would be Oakover Lane, Oaker or Ocker Lane, and
eventually Hocker’s Lane. With but one cottage in it, I can find no
tradition or trace of any personal name from which it might be called.
Apuldor, as for appletree, remains in Appledore; Birce or beorc, perhaps
in Bearsted, Birchington (?), Bekehurst.
Box, or byxe (derived from the Latin buxus) names many places, and early
forms in Bex, Bix, Bux, are found both as to Boxley and Bexley, as with
Boxhill and Bexhill in other counties.
Holegn = holen, adj. of holly, survives in Hollingbourne and Holborough;
Per (pear) in Perhamstead; Cherry in Cheriton; Plum in Plumstead; Elm in
Elmley, Elmstone, Elmstead, but only the wych-elm was indigenous, and
called Wice by the Saxons. Thorn we find in Thornham.
Haga, a Saxon name survives in our Hawthorn, and may help us to
understand the meaning of Eythorne, near Dover, and the Hundred of
Eyhorne, in which Detling is situated. The early name of Eythorne is
Hegythorne, _i.e._, Hawthorn, and the Hundred of Eythorde or Eyhorne (so
from 1347 A.D.) might well be the same, and named from the hamlet of
Iron Street is Hollingbourne, where Iron is plainly a late corruption of
an old word.
The Rev. E. McClure, in his _British Place-Names_, gives (p. 207 _et
seqq._) a list of words in old Saxon glossaries, ranging from the 7th to
the 9th centuries, which appear in British place-names. I extract those
which seem to apply to place-names in Kent.
Bodan = bottom, common in Kent for a narrow valley, _e.g._, East Bottom
at Kingsdown, near Walmer.
Hœgu-thorn = hedge-thorn, hawthorn, whence our Eythorne (anciently
Hegythe Thorne), Hundred of Eyhorne (Haythorn, temp. Henry III.), and
Iron Street, a hamlet in Hollingbourne in that Hundred.
Mapuldur = maple-tree, in our Maplescombe, _i.e._, the bowl-shaped
valley where maples abound.
Holegn = holly. Our Hollingbourne, and perhaps Hollandon.
Holt-hona = woodcock, or more exactly woodhen, like moorhen. Worhona is
Saxon for pheasant. So our Henhurst, Henwood, and Hengrove are the same.
Boece = beech. So our Mark Beech and Bough Beech, near Chiddingstone.
This derivation is also one of those suggested for Bearsted, whereof the
Saxon name is Beorhham-stede, and the first syllable would be either
Beorg-hill or Beorc-beech.
Goss = furze. Gorsley Wood, in Bishopsbourne.
Fleota = estuary or creek. Our Northfleet, Southfleet, Ebbsfleet, and
Mearesflete, and Flete.
Haesl = hazel. Hazelwood Hill, in Boughton Malherbe.
Beber = beaver. Beavers flourished in England even in historical times,
and gave their name to Beverley, Beaverbrook, etc. May Beaver, near
Ashford, derive thus? And the Beverley at Canterbury?
Pearroc = literally a grating—a place fenced in for deer, etc. So Park
and Paddock. Paddock Wood.
Hreed = reed. Our Reedham possibly; but it is not on marshy ground.
Hythae = a harbour. Our Hythe, Greenhythe, New Hythe (East Malling),
Small Hythe (Tenterden), West Hythe, and Erith (Erehithe—the old
landing-place for Lesnes Abbey on the Thames).
Thyrne = thorn. Our Thornham.
Cisil = gravel. Our Chislehurst (Cyselhurst in 973), or gravelly wood.
Cnol = hill-top, as in Knowle, Knowle Hill (in Boughton Malherbe), and
Knowlton.
Beyr = shed, cottage. Dr. Sweet makes it the same as Bur (modern Bower).
Hence perhaps our Burham and Burmarsh; but the old forms of Burham would
point rather to Borow or Borough—the walled settlement.