A Bridge Too Far?
History · Placenames · Waterways of Glossop · Where / When

A Bridge Too Far?

Tim Campbell-GreenLeave a comment

What ho, one and all!

A bit of a quick one today, exploring one of the lesser-known, and certainly overlooked, bits of Glossop. Truthfully, I thought there might be more of a story here – perhaps even some pottery – but alas, there is very little to be said about today’s subject. I’m really not selling it you, am I? Ahem… so then, ladies and gentlemen, may I present Moodsbottom Bridge.

Can anyone else hear crickets? And why is that tumbleweed cartwheeling across Victoria Street? And what’s that I hear you cry? “I say, old TCG, where is this Moodsbottom Bridge of which you speak?”. Well, quite! 

So then, it’s here…

Just before Glossop Caravans on the left, and at the junction with Newshaw Lane, it crosses over Glossop Brook. You will have driven past it thousands of times, and perhaps even vaguely acknowledged it was there, sat in traffic, but unless you were actively seeking it, you would simply overlook it. By the way, it should not be confused with the ‘modern’ bridge over the brook, the one you drive over in the line of traffic that ignores the older bridge on the left.

My skills with Microsoft Paint knows no bounds!

To clarify, in this image, we see Glossop Brook (marked in blue), the line of the modern road (in green), Cottage Lane  (up to Gamesley, in orange), the new bridge carrying the modern road (originally the Turnpike Road, and circled in pink), and our bridge – Moodsbottom Bridge – circled in red.

Here is the bridge as viewed from the road – it’s lost some of it’s walling, and is in a poor state of preservation, but this is what is visible now.

Glossop Brook – leading to the river Etherow – has been seriously monkeyed around with, and the whole area has been landscaped.

It seems to have been a fairly important crossing at one point in the past, and is the latest visible aspect of the crossing which probably started as a ford across Glossop Brook. Looking at older maps, it seems to take the track from Mottram, Hague, and Lower Gamesley Farm across the brook, as well as a track from Hargate Hill, crosses, and then up to Hadfield via Shaw, and (Old) Glossop, via Dinting. It was clearly the meeting of many of the old tracks that existed in the pre-turnpike era (pre-1800 or thereabouts), and one of only a handful of crossings of the brook.

25″ OS map from roughly 1900

And yet truthfully, though, I’ve no idea of the age of the crossing and bridge, and its history is confused and murky, which is a pity. There is very little discussion in any of the history books or articles, and a brief google of “Moodsbottom” produces just 10 hits (11, now, I assume).

As if to illustrate this frustrating murkiness and general lack of knowledge, the earliest reference to the bridge I have found is from 17th February, 1794, when the trustees of the newly formed turnpike trust ordered “the river below Moodsbottom Bridge be piled to prevent carriages travelling to the coal pits”. “Piled” here probably refers to having the river bank’s sides made steep and secure with piling, to prevent the carriages from fording it, and thus avoiding the fees for road use. But the turnpike road (now the modern, green, road in the map above) was only put through in 1804 or so, some 10 years later – so why the trustees of the turnpikes trusts were making this ruling is not clear.

At about this time (1795), according to Robert Hamnett (quoted here) a John Loton built three houses at “Gamesley Bridge” (not the viaduct over the railway, which was built in 1843). There was also a white cottage belonging to a Roger Dumphy; possibly an older building, it had some ‘pleasure gardens’ at the rear, which were apparently quite popular. Presumably these all stood on what later became known as Cottage Lane (in orange, on the map above), and which was apparently named after Dumphy’s White Cottage.

We also know that on 17th December 1863, a meeting of ratepayers was held to discuss the making and improving of certain highways. This was in response to the ‘Cotton Famine’ of the mid 1860’s, when raw cotton ceased to be imported from America due to the ongoing civil war there. The effect of this was to put thousands of mill workers out of work, and create hardship and poverty throughout the area. In order to mitigate the effect, jobs were ‘created’, and large numbers of public works were initiated – including the creation and improvements of many roads in the area. Among these were “the making of a public road from the Glossop and Marple Bridge turnpike road, at Gamesley, to the Glossop and Marple Bridge turnpike road at Moodsbottom Bridge.” – that is, what we now know as Cottage Lane. Looking at the stonework, it would seem that the current bridge dates to about that time, and the whole area seems to have been reconstructed and formalised then. What the bridge would have looked like prior to this is unknown – stone, but less… well, Victorian!

So what is there now? Here are some photographs taken last week…

Close up of the ivy clad western wall.
Another close up of the western wall.
Another shot of the western wall, snaking into the distance along Cottage Lane, the lovely dressed Victorian stonework smooth and tactile.
Cottage Lane – a particularly rough track all but impassable now. The large stones in the road are, I suspect, the remains of the 1863 rebuild, or even of an earlier build. And no, there was no pottery to be had anywhere around here… depressingly!
Looking up Cottage Lane from the bridge.
The partly collapsed eastern wall. This shows the construction method – presumably an iron rod was placed into the hole in the end of the roughly dressed stone, joining it to another similarly shaped stone.
Another shot of the eastern wall, this part still intact, and showing the modern Moodsbottom Bridge behind it.
The view from the bridge at the crossroads: behind us is Cottage Lane, ahead is Shaw Lane, and running left-right is the A57, the turnpike road constructed in 1804.

There is an interesting aside in Neville Sharpe’s book, Glossop Remembered, where he notes that during WWII, the local Home Guard put gun loops (holes that allow soldiers to shoot through) into the wall belonging to a factory that overlooked the bridge, allowing rifles and machine guns to train up the road that comes from Woolley Bridge (and Hollingworth) – the likely direction of invasion into Glossop from the west – and up Newshaw Lane to the north: even in 1940, the bridge held strategic importance.

Neville Sharpe’s photograph, in which the holes are clearly visible, as is their direction – imagine guns pointing out of them. Note the arrow pointing to a triangular stone

Alas, as so often happens, the evidence of the past is erased – the wall has been truncated since the above photo was taken (1980’s? 1990’s?), and as this modern photo shows, what we are left with is… not a lot. You can see where the loops were by spotting the triangular shaped stone in both photographs, indicated by the big white arrow!

The whole row of stones that includes the gun loops – and upwards – has been removed.

Incidentally, logically there must have been a similar defensive position to the east – somewhere at the bottom of the snake pass, in order to protect that road – and I think I might have a likely location! Let me check it out, and I’ll let you know what I find…

The name is interesting, though. Moodsbottom? What does that mean?

It’s named as “Mousbottom” in Ralph Bernard Robinson’s Sketches of Longdendale (1863). This seems to be a contraction of ‘Mouselow Bottom’, and may account for Moodsbottom, which sounds very similar. But – and here we stray into ‘placename’ territory – I have another theory, one that plays into the idea that Mouselow was a hugely important site in the Saxon period as well as the Iron Age, and early medieval periods.

I suspect that Mouselow, the Iron Age hillfort that sits just above Moodsbottom, was used in the Anglo-Saxon period (let’s say 9th and 10th centuries), holding a special status as a Moot place – where the local ‘council’ of surrounding villages held monthly meetings to discuss issues such as land use and roads, for example. I discussed moots here in regards to Mottram, and I have a whole article almost ready to go about this, but one of the central ideas is that ‘Mouselow’ is derived from ‘Motts Low’, the ‘mound’ (low) of the ‘moot’ (mott). If this is the case Moodsbottom is derived from ‘Moots Bottom’ – the bottom of the moot… which it is. More on this soon, I promise, but for now I’ll leave you with that tantalising glimpse.

So, there you are, a small piece of Glossop’s history, imperfect and not fully understood, and very much overlooked, but full of a possible story. Wonderful!

In other news… the latest Where/When has landed in the shops – both physical and online. Behold: The Broadbottom Bimble!

It’s a circular Wander from the station (well, let’s face it, the Harewood Arms), to Far Woodseats Farm and back, via Broadbottom Beach, some amazing standing stones, medieval fields, Georgian and Victorian factories, packhorse tracks, bridges, brooks, and some incredible geology. What’s not to love?

It’s available now, as indeed they all are (No’s 1-9) from Dark Peak Books at 96 High Street West, Glossop; from my Ko-Fi shop (and do feel free to buy me a coffee, or a glass of the stuff that cheers); or just find me in the street, hail me with a hearty “what ho!”, and I’ll give you one. Cheers, and happy Wandering.

Right, that’s all for this time. More to follow, soonish… probably. And whatever does follow will be pottery based – maybe even the final instalment of the pottery guide, or an updated version of the already published guide, you lucky folk, you.

Whatever comes, look after yourselves and each other. We live in turbulent times all around us, and each one of us is going through our own personal things. So let’s be kind to one another, because we all matter.

And so, until then, I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG

You’ve Got To Pick a Pot Sherd or Two.
Archaeology · Pottery

You’ve Got To Pick a Pot Sherd or Two.

Tim Campbell-GreenLeave a comment

What ho! I’ll not beat about the old b, but instead get straight down to business. Pottery. Lovely pottery; sherds of delight, fragments of history, delightful detritus of… What? What’s that you’re yelling? Look here, no one is making you read the website, you know. And what’s that you keep calling me? A “boring pickhead“… I don’t even know what that means. Honestly, I mean to say… the cheek of some people.

Anyway, apologies for the rudeness of some people spoiling the fun.

Pottery. I always have some lying around (see, for example, the Fireplace Finds Frenzy), and it keeps getting added to. Any hole that is dug around here will find me like a moth to a flame, fettling around in the spoil heap, and at any point as I am walking along, I am constantly looking at the ground (my back is knackered, and I’m certain I’ll end up looking like Quasimodo). Now, as per my new policy, I only take bits that I find interesting, or that I think are worth putting on the website, and for today’s post I thought I’d share a few of these bits with you.

First up, we have some sherds from my own garden. Since moving in ten years ago, bits of pottery have been showing up in the soil any time we put a hole in the ground. Recently, We have had a pile of earth moved from the side of the house (literally against the side of the house, causing all kinds of damp issues). This produced quite a pile of pottery, all broadly contemporary with the house (1850-ish) – I’ll give you some of the highlights, rather than a whole dump (I can hear you sighing at the back, you know…).

My favourite sherd in this lot is the fragment of Shell or Feather Edged ware; I love this stuff, and wrote about it here.

This sherd is from a small plate with the rim diameter of 22cm, and with the characteristic wide ledge, and impressed shell-like ripples. It is made in Pearlware, where cobalt blue was added to the lead glaze to make a clean blueish white – you can see the glaze pooling in between the shell ridges, where it shows the pale blue colour which gives it its ‘fake’ whiteness. If you are interested, I discussed it here. You can also see how the cobalt blue slip was applied to the edge to highlight he ridged decoration, and rather sloppily if you look at the edge itself – this was not expensive pottery, but rather fancy, cheaply produced, everyday ware:

You can make out the overlapping brush strokes that gave colour to the shell-
like ridged decoration – it looks so neat from the front!

As I say, I love this stuff.

But check out the brown Derbyshire Stoneware sherd to the right of it, probably a bit of an open bowl – a stew pot or similar, perhaps.

The decoration is lovely; a pair of vertical rouletted bands running horizontally around the bowl, created by running a cog-like wheel along the soft clay body prior to firing. Between these bands are groups of flowers, again pressed into the clay. Whilst this is not a great example – the flowers are not deep or crisp enough – and it’s a common decorative motif, it is wonderful to see, and the poet in me sees this as a reminder that spring is properly here, and that nature is once again blossoming.

The rest of the pottery is not particularly interesting – some stoneware bits, probably from a bottle, and some whiteware, although a clay pipe stem is always a welcome find.

Sticking with the Derbyshire Stoneware (although I think this might be a little earlier), is this sherd I found the other day in the Memorial Garden in Hebden Bridge:

A circular fragment, and measuring just 7cm in diameter, I initially thought it might be a lid to something. But turning it over I saw that it was actually the base of a vessel; you can see the string marks (the lines) where it was cut from the potter’s wheel, as well as marks on the edge that are suggestive of the potter picking it up. Also, a lid would have been much more carefully formed, often with an internal rim to fit properly into an opening. Looking more carefully at the base, there is a lack of iron rich salt-glaze here – you can see how it fades from shiny and dark brown at the edge, to lighter and matt – unglazed – in the middle.

The base – linear string marks, and a rough edge with finger marks, are clearly visible.

I don’t know for certain what the original pot was, but perhaps something like the ‘Covered Sugar Bowl’ circled in green in the image below, an advert showing the range of Derbyshire Stoneware vessels on sale in c.1880:

The bit we have is the flat part of the pedestal foot, curving up into the stem that supports the actual bowl. It’s a lovely sherd, despite appearances.

This next sherd cropped up in Glossop Brook, and what a sherd it is too – a fragment of a stoneware bottle marked with “J, SHE… GLO…”.

Having seen others like it, it should read “J. SHEPPARD. GLOSSOP” who were a soft drinks maker based here, but about who there seems to be frustratingly little information. Looking closely, you can see how it was manufactured, and also how quickly – this was Victorian mass production, and yet still hand made – finger marks and smudges in the saltglaze exterior, and if we look on the inside, you can see the spiral made by the potter’s finger as he pulled it up and formed it on the wheel.

As I said elsewhere, there are records of potters being awarded special bottles commemorating their 1 millionth bottle made. Now, excusing my bad maths, assuming they work roughly 300 days a year (all days except Sundays and occasional holidays, for 50 years, would mean they would have to make over 650 bottles a day… which is bonkers.

The next bits were found underneath Lean Town, just off Derbyshire Level, and something of a favourite place to find pottery. There’s masses down there, but these 4 were chosen because they are a bit more interesting.

Starting at the left, we have a large open bowl in the familiar Derbyshire Stoneware, although this is a bit fancier – and therefore likely earlier – than the normal domestic stuff we find everywhere. It is a rim sherd, which allows us to find the rim diameter – 16cm in this case – and is from a quite fine bowl with a wide horizontal ledge rim, probably dating from the early 19th century – broadly contemporary with the houses there (1806). Which reminds me, I really should make a video or two about how to analyse pottery, and which tools, and even glue, to use, as it might be interesting to you fellow sherd nerds out there. And no, we know, Mr Shouty-Outy, not you.

Next to that is another sherd of Shell-Edged Ware, this one has an undulating rim, and is also of a similar age to the houses here, so earlier than the first Shell-Edged Ware sherd. Next to that is some annular Industrial Slipware, looking modern, but also – surprise surprise – is of a similar age to the houses! This sherd is probably from a bowl. And at the end is a small glass button, dating to the late 19th or early 20th century. It was right by the gate there, and one can well imagine a part of clothing being caught and the button pinging off into the undergrowth, to be discovered 100 years later as an artefact of a lovely summer’s day walk. Or something!

Down the underneath path toward Whitfield Green from Lean Town, we start to encounter early 18th and possibly 17th century material, which is nice!

On the left, you can see the exterior of the sherd is unfired, and has lots of tiny inclusions – crushed bits of stone – poking through the slip. This is characteristic of Midlands Purple Ware, as is the visible bands where the pot has been formed on a wheel.

The sherd on the left is a bit of Coarse Blackware in a vaguely Midlands Purpleware fabric. Now, there really can’t be many people anywhere who care (and once again, Mr Shouty-Outy, we know), but this stuff is generally 17th century, and is associated with larger vessels such as jars. The sherd on the right is from a similar vessel, and likely of the same date. It all concurs with the date I believe Whitfield Green Farm was built – roughly late 17th century. This next sherd also lends credence this theory – a classic Staffordshire Slipware fragment of a plate or platter:

The dark stripes on a lighter background are clear on this absolutely knackered sherd.

You can also see how it was made. The body is made from a mixture of light and dark coloured clay, as is usual, especially in earlier vessels (you can see the bands of different colours in the break), and the shape is formed in a mould. A light coloured slip is then applied over it all (showing white on the sherd above), onto this an iron rich red slip is applied in stripes, and then finally the whole is covered in a lead glaze, which, when fired, makes the ‘white’ background appear yellow, and the stripes a dark brown, almost black colour. Wonderful stuff, and again, late 17th or early 18th century in date.

There’s lots more pottery from this track to be published, but honestly, one doesn’t want to over-egg the pudding, so to speak, and with that in mind, let’s move away from pottery (don’t think I can’t hear you celebrating). This has been lurking around the house for while:

It might not look like much, but it’s a fragment of a stone roof tile that I found on the banks of Valehouse Reservoir when the water was very low a few years ago. I posted an article about some of the pottery here, but left this out for reasons I can’t explain… so here it is! I kept it because it has the peg hole that would have taken the oak peg that hung it on to the wooden batons – this sort of thing:

These were found in the floor of the loft of my own house, beneath old insulation, where they had been thrown down whilst it was being re-roofed (perhaps in the 1960’s?). The house was built in roughly 1840/50, and has stone tiles very much like this one. You can also see how it was made – chipped away from both sides, and finally breached with a single punch from a sharp metal tool. It’s a lovely thing, formed from local gritstone, and look at the skill with which it was shaped – it is exactly 1 inch thick (2.54 cm), and I’m certain they would all have been a uniform width, too.

It’s probably a fragment of the roof of Valehouse Farm, destroyed when the valley was flooded in 1869, but which probably dated to the 17th or early 18th century. Looking at this, and tiles like this, I’m always amazed to think of everything that has happened beneath this stone: the conversations, the arguments, the dramas, the births… and indeed deaths, and the individual stories of real lives playing out underneath it. Wonderful.

Keeping with the theme of roofing, here is a copper nail I found a few days ago:

Square in section, tapering slightly, and with a thin flattened head, they are largely associated with Victorian slate roof tiles, rather than the heavier stone tile we looked at above, and I discuss them and how they were made a little here.

They seem to be shaken lose with heavy rain and/or strong winds – both of which we have had in spades recently – and end up one way or another on the pavement, and which is precisely where I found this one at the bottom end of Gladstone Street. Or at least that’s my theory. I seem to find them all the time – I have dozens of the blighters, lurking in a bag (each individually tagged, obviously… I’m not some sort of weirdo). Indeed, I find them to the point where I think I am cursed, or a kind of magnet for them (despite being non-ferrous). I honestly cannot resist them, they are so tactile, and whenever I see one on the ground, I take it.

And to end with… a final button:

A copper alloy – bronze perhaps – it is small, but not tiny, and is strangely heavy – the result of a high lead content in the metal. There’s no great age to it – 19th or early 20th century I would assume – buttons before that had a shank on the back rather than the now familiar two or four holes, but I love it, and again it is so tactile. I found it on the track towards Lower Dinting from Dinting, just lying on the surface, where it had fallen off a coat.

There you go… some bits and pieces, fragments of history; it’s all around us, so keep an eye open, and keep in touch – let me know what you find.

More soon I promise, but until then, look after yourselves and each other.

But until then, I remain, your humble servant,

TCG

Mench Barks
Bench Marks · Archaeology · History · Where / When

Mench Barks

Tim Campbell-Green3 Comments

No, fear not, dear and gentle reader, I have not had some sort of ‘attack’, or a fit of the vapours, or conniptions, or a melancholic fever, nor indeed some form of ‘brain disorder’ resulting in a sharp dose of the ‘lah-lah-lahs’ (despite what some of you may think). I am tickety-boo; hunky dory; cock-a-hoop; and all is, in fact, distinctly oojah-cum-spiff… I am perfectly normal. Honestly, and all shall be revealed, so stick around.

What ho, wonderful folk, what ho! Spring is upon us: I have seen sweet blessed blossom on trees, and daffodils. Oh, daffodils! Now, if it can just stop raining for a minute or two, I might actually dance. But enough of this frivolity, let us look at some bench marks! Stop that moaning, you at the back… it’s unbecoming of a gentleman.

If you have spent any time on this website you will know that have covered Ordnance Survey bench marks before. Several times, in fact. And will also know that I love them with a passion. What on earth do you mean “obsessed” – I have an interest, that’s all. I can handle it. It’s not like I approach strangers and tell them all about benchmarks. Often. Well, not since the rather nasty court case and the restraining orders. Anyway, let’s move on. Swiftly.

For those of you who don’t know (but dash it all, you should know), an Ordnance Survey benchmark is a mark carved onto a building or other immovable object that marks out a specific height above sea level. They are most often found as an arrow with a line above it:

The ‘broad arrow’ denoting British military ownership – Royal Ordnance – with a line on top.
And here is one in real life – this one being precisely 682ft above sea level.

They are the remains of the original, and subsequent, surveys made by the Ordnance Survey in the 1840, allowing engineers and surveyors to record the whole country by height and distance. A remarkable feat, when you think about it: with each mark being intervisible with another, they are a literal network of heights, which, whilst visible in plain sight, is nonetheless overlooked or simply not known about by 99% of the population. I first encountered them whilst working as an archaeologist in the Oxford area where we used them to provide a height for the sites we were working on – essentially using an old fashioned level and ranging rod, we leapfrogged from the benchmark on a church to our site about a mile away, as this was the nearest benchmark, and we were working in the middle of nowhere! Benchmarks are marked on older OS maps, and they are found in their hundreds of thousands all over the country.

The system is no longer maintained, sadly, and they are falling into disrepair, but are much loved by nerds such as myself, who become, against their better judgement – and ignoring vague threats of divorce – Benchmark Baggers.

Now, occasionally, mistakes happen. The Ordnance Survey is very – painfully – good at what it does, but the people it serves – us – are not. Benchmarks go missing, or are moved, and sometimes too they are marked on buildings, but seem to have not been marked on maps. That is what this post is about – the anomalies and the oddities, not so much a benchmark… more a menchbark.

We start with Fieldhead Farm, Whitfield. The farm building itself has a benchmark, but nearby is a gatepost with a clearly carved benchmark on it; proudly stating the height above sea level of… we don’t know! It’s here on the map:

The Beehive pub is circled in red, for reference, but the benchmark is marked by the red dot.

There’s the mark, but the OS have never marked it on any map I’ve ever seen. And I don’t believe it has been moved from anywhere, either – that’s a solid piece of gatepost! Interestingly, it does replace a smaller square-holed medieval/post-medieval post. This is a very curious part of Whitfield that has a greater history than we currently understand – even the name ‘Fieldhead’ may suggest medieval origins.

Nearby, on Derbyshire Level is this lovely example:

This one was originally in the wall of the garden of Lane Ends Farm, Derbyshire Level. It still is in the wall, but the wall has been rebuilt fairly recently, and whilst it originally marked a height of exactly 705ft above sea level, and has been replaced in roughly the same place (amazing work, whoever did that), Jove alone knows what it marks now!

However, at least the people who rebuilt the wall understood that the benchmark had a purpose… and a right way up. Whoever rebuilt this wall in Hadfield – under the disused railway just by the start of the Longdendale Trail – had no idea what to do with it, so the benchmark was replaced upside down:

I mean to say… given that benchmarks for me represent an unmoving, permanent and fixed, point in a chaotic world (and mind), the sight of this inverted mark is literally turning my world upside down… and quite frankly gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Here, on the southernmost of a pair of paths between Hague Street and Charlestown Road (and discussed in this article), we see that sometimes the mark is moved, probably due to some form of destruction or movement. So in 1898, the mark is on an object to the south of the path (a gatepost that is no longer visible, perhaps):

At some stage, the mark is rendered useless, and by 1968 it’s moved to the north side, and carved onto a gatepost, itself no longer used:

Next up, we have Flatt Farm, on Cliffe Road, Whitfield. The original benchmark is here:

1898 OS map

To the left of the building’s gable end. It is ridiculously low to the ground, with only the flat top showing – the result of the ground level having risen about 1ft.

As a result, a later benchmark was cut into the right-hand side of the gable end:

A lot has changed by 1969… including the benchmark location
Worn and faded, it is there in the centre of the photograph.

The ‘new’ carving was poor by comparison, and has faded quickly, a symptom, perhaps; by 1969, the whole system was falling into disuse, and benchmarks no longer were marked on OS maps as a general rule. Sad, but there you go. Of course, now we don’t use them at all due to GPS, etc. But I honestly think there is something grounding and wonderful about them.

Anyway, whilst researching the latest Where/When (No.9), I discovered this wonderful specimen: potentially an abandoned attempt at a benchmark:

It’s at the right height – 1ft off the ground – and on the right sort of immovable object – a gatepost -and it would be in a perfect place for one, but it seems that during the carving process, a mistake was made – the stone may have crumbled, or a careless stroke was made, and the whole was abandoned. I might be wrong, of course, but that is what it looks like to me. You can have a look yourselves, here:

Facing the track to Far Slack farm, it’s the left hand gatepost (alos, right next to a rather spiffing holed gatepost, now lying on it’s side). The mark is also right by Robin Hood’s Picking Rods – a pair of 10th Century Anglo-Saxon Stone Cross shafts, and coincidentally, the stars of the latest Where/When – see below. Definitely worth checking out.

We’ll end on that most rare thing… a feral benchmark. Escaped from who knows where, it lurks, in a recumbent posture, and mocking all attempts at identification, just by Pikes Farm at the end of Pikes Lane. It’s been dumped from somewhere… but Jove knows where!

It was once on an upright gatepost, but is made from a non-local stone, so may have been brought from a distance. I contacted the OS, and they have no knowledge. A welcome visitor in our town, found here:

Left hand side of the track, just after Pikes Farm.

So there we go… interesting stuff. Well I like it, and I hope some of you like it too. Not you, Mr Shouty-Outy, we know, not you.

If you’re interested in benchmark bagging, I have recently begun using a phone app called TrigFindAR to help me find them. It has an almost complete map and database of benchmarks across the whole country, and allows you to tick them off as you find them (make them go from red to green) and to get onto the database kept at bench-marks.org.uk and look at that particular benchmark. I’m not sponsored – sadly – but it is truly a superb bit of kit, and is totally free; I cannot recommend it enough for you geeky types out there.

Elsewhere, the new edition of Where/When is out!

It’s an exploration of Cown Edge, Coombes Edge, medieval, prehistoric, and Roman archaeology, and a journey from The Beehive (Whitfield) to The Hare and Hounds (Simmondley). Essentially a guided walk around some really cool old stuff that starts and ends at a pub… what’s not to love. Think of it as a paper form of this website, but involving footpaths and loads to explore.

Available for £6.50 from the Where/When link above, or through the amazing Dark Peak Books and Gifts on High Street West, Glossop. Or just stop me and buy one!

Right, I’m off. I’m tired, grumpy, and am due a glass of the stuff that cheers any moment now. More soon, I promise, but until then, look after yourselves and each other. Please. We are all important, even if we don’t feel it sometimes. And until the next time, I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG

What A Mug!
Archaeology · Pottery

What A Mug!

Tim Campbell-GreenLeave a comment

What ho, one and all! We are still in the bleak midwinter, but I trust you are all bearing up under the strain. I am actively shivering as I write this, and I might have to light the fire… and have a glass of the stuff that both cheers, and warms.

So then, this unexpected article presented itself through the extremely unlikely medium of a 9-year-old schoolboy! Actually, and to be fair to him, if you knew this particular 9-year-old, you wouldn’t find it that unlikely; he is one of those wonderful creatures that infests a school, creating mischief and chaos, and which forces you to tell him off. And yet he makes the day – and the job – so much more enjoyable, precisely because of the mischief and chaos, and because he is a thoroughly likeable chap. Stand up and take a bow Stanley, you marvellous man, you!*

At 8.55am, he bounces down the corridor towards me with a wide grin. “Good morning S, old bean” I hail. “Morning Dr CG” he replies “I’ve got something in my bag for you“. As opening gambits go, it’s a good one… I’m intrigued. “Shall I get it?“. “Ooooh, nice…” I say (slightly worried though, I know his mother… and the whole family, and frankly it could be anything in his bag). “No, wait until break time“. Break time arrives, and clutching a handful of something, he sought me out. Carefully wrapped in tissue is the subject of today’s article, and wonderful it is, too. Apparently, he found it on a Victorian (and later) rubbish dump, with his parents, and in a whole condition (remarkable in itself). However, the night before he had knocked it off a shelf in his room, and it now lay in three perfect pieces in the kitchen paper in front of me. Knowing that I’m archaeological, and somewhat pottery obsessed, he wondered if I might have some magic to work to fix it. And indeed I did (UHU yellow glue, and a cocktail stick, since you ask… remind me to show you sometime).

So then, it’s a mug. Blue and White transfer printed, and not particularly high quality. Victorian, I guessed. Biggish, but not huge, and not very refined in shape or small in size – 9cm in diameter – so didn’t immediately strike me as a tea cup… just a mug. Here it is:

A lovely thing! Not fancy, by any means, but lovely.

However, as I was inspecting the results of my mending, I noticed a few things that make this mug special, and immediately alarm bells began ringing – “I say! Here is a great article for the old website!” I thought, and, well… here is the very article.

Here is the mug from a variety of jaunty angles, to give a better idea of the decoration:

So then, a fairly standard blue and white transfer printed vessel (follow the link for more about Blue and White, and how it was made). Poor quality, I’m not going to lie – the blur at the top of the 4th photo above is not the result of my terrible camera work! It’s a smudge and a mistake on the part of the person applying the transfer. I mean no judgement by that – it was probably their (likely her, as it was largely a female job) 1000th transfer application that day, and with just another 1000 to go before a break. Incidentally, the brown spots on the exterior are the result of the mug lying next to something iron in the dump, and as the iron oxidises and rusts, it discolours the surface.

The actual standard of the transfer is poor too – I’m by no means an expert in this stuff, but it’s not a top notch engraving. It’s also not a standard willow pattern – it is ‘Chinese’ inspired, but not the tale of the two lovers changed into birds, etc. Instead, it is a pile of pagodas, Asiatic trees… and weird fish people, walking on their tails, and attempting to do the conga over a bridge. Which is… different.

But it was this I noticed on the exterior that set me running to the website:

Etched into the glaze using acid.

It’s the word “Pint” over a crown, with the letters “G R” below, and over the number “76”. Now where have I seen something like this before? Oh yes… on every pint of beer I drank in a pub until 2006. It is the official Weights and Measurements Crown Stamp Mark, placed on every glass and mug used in pubs to ensure we are not sold a short measure. Originating in the Victorian period, after 2006 they were replaced by a CE mark, ensuring conformity to the EU standards, which in turn was replaced by a UK standard in 2021 following Brexit.

“Pint” indicates the measurement, “GR” is the regent – in this case “Georgius Rex” – King George V or VI, and the number “76” refers to the Weights and Measures authority in Salford and Manchester. George V or VI reigned one after another from 1910 to 1952 (with the very brief – 9 months – reign of Edward VIII in between), and in this case the royal cipher refers to George V, who reigned 1910 – 1936, providing us with a lovely date for when the pint pot was in use. As to which pub it was used in, alas, I cannot answer, but the fact remains that at some time between 1910 and 1936, in a pub in Glossop, people drank beer from this mug. And actually not for long, it seems – there is very little wear on the base, indicating it was in use for a short time only, and then it was thrown away whole, rather than after it was dropped and broken into pieces. That’s an odd thing to do, but I think I know why. Looking closely, there is an old hairline fracture – discoloured by the soil – and starting from this minor chip on the rim; I wonder if it was dropped or banged – enough to cause damage but not enough to fragment it?

It caused a fracture, but not a complete smash.

The pub, seeing the damage, chucked it away into the dump, only to be dug up 100 years later by the aforementioned schoolboy. It also has the makers mark on the base, which gave me another tingle!

Very blurry, it took me ages to work out what this says!

With the eye of faith, squinting, and on my third glass of stuff that cheers… it reads “Semi China”, and says “W A and Co” around the bottom of the lozenge. Presumably the other letters refer to the shape, and decoration type, etc. Anyway, it was a lead, and something to chew on.

“WA and Co” is William Adams and Company, a pottery manufacturer that operated between 1657 and 1966 in the heartland of the Staffordshire Potteries.

The image is stolen from the wonderful, and truly fascinating, thepotteries.org – so much information you could need about Staffordshire Pottery. A genuinely amazing resource.

They specialised in making, among other wares, ‘Semi China’ – a cheaply produced alternative to Bone China – it’s earthernware, but cleaner and whiter. The company was eventually taken over by Wedgewood, and stopped manufacturing by the 1990’s.

Also connected with manufacture are these marks on the base:

The joys of Windows Paint once more!

Three smudged holes in the glaze in shape of a perfect equilateral triangle, and a sneak peak into the way the mug was fired. When a glaze on the outside of the mugs surface is fired, it becomes a liquid glass, and then cools into the shiny surface. However, if this surface comes into contact with another mug, pot, or even the kiln wall, it will fuse onto that, essentially melting into a lump. in order to prevent this, objects to be fired are stacked in a particular way, and are separated by what’s known as ‘kiln furniture’, in this case a ‘stilt‘, which provides the minimum amount of contact between pots – simply three tiny points. The mass production of these cheaply produced vessels meant that the stilts are reused to the point of them being knackered, and less care taken – hence the wide jagged holes. However, stilts are used even on the finest pottery, only you can’t see the holes so easily.

So there we have it, a 1920’s pint pot from a pub in the Glossop area.

Right, that’s all for this time. There’s lots going on at the moment, but I couldn’t let a great post like this just wait! I want to thank Stanley for this article, though – it’s all his. The mug itself is now ‘safely’ back in his hands – a truly wonderful piece of history, loved, and back on the shelf. Thank you, S old bean… see, I told you I’d put it on the website and make you famous!

Until next time, look after yourselves and each other, and I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG

*For the record, I cleared it with his parents before publishing this article – thanks Emily & Ant, & E!

Ready, Sett…
Archaeology · Roads · Stones of Glossop

Ready, Sett…

Tim Campbell-GreenLeave a comment

What Ho! And a happy New Whatsit to you all, yes, even you Mr Shouty-Outy, even you.

So, I was wondering down Cliffe Road in Whitfield the other day – actually on my way to Lidl, since you ask, and yes, to buy a bottle or two of the stuff that cheers… amongst other things (mainly cheese, if I’m honest). The road dives steeply down, and then takes a left turn at the bottom, and leads past the new build houses on the old Velocrepe site and onto Milltown. Now, I’ve always found this stretch of road very interesting. The main road from Chapel en le Frith to Glossop (and beyond), and thus Anglo-Saxon in date, it originally seems to have carried on straight, where it joined The Bank – the medieval/Post-Medieval track coming from Simmondley to Glossop – and together crossed Shelf Brook via the foot and road bridge at the entrance to Shirebrook, but was presumably then a ford or basic bridge. The route of this track was altered when a mill was built here, probably in the 1780’s (dates are a little fuzzy), and a mill pond put where it once ran. The newer route was/is to the right, and then down, past some mid 19th century houses there. Here, this carefully and skilfully annotated map explains it better visually than I can with words:

Green – Cliffe Road, with the right hand kink, and then straight ahead. Blue – the left hand late 18th/early 19th century extension to Milltown. Red – The Bank, the road from Simmondley to Glossop. Yellow – the original route of Cliffe Road, moved when the mill and millpond were put there. Green Star – the location of the crossing over Hurst Brook (a ford or bridge). Pink – the route from the bridge to Glossop.

But here I am again, getting distracted! This post is not about the tracks… well not as such. But rather, what such tracks were made from. The earliest tracks were simply mud, and were impassable in the rain, or with winter blowing cold, and Glossop was notorious for its frankly crap roads, which would have been patched and ‘surfaced’ with rough stones as and when it was needed, the remains of which can be seen occasionally be encountered peeking through the tracks where it has been worn.

I’m not going to go into the history of the roads in the Glossop area, as it has been covered in detail elsewhere (Glossop Heritage Trust), but in summary. it is only with the advent of the Turnpike Roads in the late 18th and earlier 19th century that Glossop finally got some ‘real’ roads. These high quality, well built and maintained, turnpike roads were paid for by a private consortium which recouped the money by charging a toll to travel on them. The introduction of these toll roads changed Glossop permanently, as it meant that the vast economic potential of Glossop’s mills could be fully realised; prior to this, mills were restricted, as it was difficult to get your finished cloth out, as well as raw materials in. Once this was problem was solved, the full brunt of the Industrial Revolution could be unleashed, bringing with it all the positives, and negatives, of this turbulent time (and if you know me, the you’ll know I’m essentially a hobbit, and so I think it was all a huge mistake!).

So, there I was, wandering down the bottom of Cliffe Road (in blue above), when magically, beneath my feet I saw this:

Peeking through, the past – always with us, sometimes at our feet.

The woeful state of the roads here in north Derbyshire, had revealed the original road surface; ‘What ho, setts!’ I thought.

So what are we looking at? This is the original surface of the road, dating to the time when this sideways step was constructed in the early 19th century (the datestone on the house at the bottom there reads ‘1815’, which is perfect). These are the setts that made up the road itself – a sett, which is deliberately shaped by human hands, rather than a cobble which is natural product and can be picked up off the beach. The fact that each one of these was shaped by hand frankly blows my mind! What a tedious, tiring, and unpleasant job that would have been, day in, day out. And how many 100’s of thousands… millions, would have been used in Glossop alone? Frightening stuff.

As you wander about Glossop, you can often encounter these sneaky little portals to the past, and I like to stand on them, imaging what stories they could tell. I also take photographs of them… what’s that? Hmmmm?… “I say, TCG old chap, you couldn’t show us some photographs could you?”. Well, I’m glad you asked, old bean, because I have few I could share!

These were on Wood Street
Shaw Street
Gladstone Street

The reason that we can see this is that the modern tarmac can’t get a good grip on the smooth surface of the Setts, and it simply peels of over time. They tried to solve the problem by scoring deep lines into the stone, but that doesn’t seem to have worked, either!

The scoring must have been done mechanically.

Occasionally, when there is a problem and the road need opening up, they have to pull up the setts, and you can can see how they were laid.

King Street
St Mary’s Road – you can see the setts just below the surface
Charlestown Road. Note the setts here are sitting on a bed of cinders and chalk.

And, of course, you can sometimes get lucky with the spoil from these excavations, and find a piece of pottery… obviously you can’t have an article without pottery!

Lovely – banded ‘annular’ Industrial Slipware. In this case, it dates to not later than 1850’s.

Also, this provides us with a terminus ante quem, meaning that the pottery could only have been deposited before the road was laid down, which is the case of St Mary’s was mid 19th century, or slightly earlier. Wonderful stuff!

And of course, sometimes, the setts roll out of the spoil heap, and into… well, let’s not beat about the bush – my garden. It seems such a shame to just let them disappear into the truck and be driven off to a landfill somewhere, or to be used as hardcore for a new road. That saddens me greatly. So occasionally, they – magically – roll into the garden. Uphill. And sometimes over great distances. Following me home, if you will! And I can tell you this, they are heavier than they look!

A King Street Sett, a lovely grey colour.
I think it had paint spilled on it as some stage.

It measures 7″ x 4″ x 5″, and has a smooth even surface. Hamnett suggests that King Street was laid out in the 1840’s and 1850’s, which makes sense.

Turnlee Road
A more coarse surface.

Measuring 7.5″ x 7.5″ x 6.5″, the Turnlee Road sett is bigger, and has a rougher surface. This one is older, too, as it was presumably laid in the 1790’s when the turnpike road was put through, and is thus a real piece of Glossop’s history: who knows who and what travelled on this surface.

The King Street stone seems smoother, and thus more worn, than the Turnlee Road sett. This is odd – surely Turnlee would have seen much more traffic than King Street? But the differences may be explained by the location of the stone within the road surface; King Street was taken from the middle, whereas Turnlee was, I seem to remember, came from the edge of the road, where presumably no traffic would pass. It might also be explained by different stones being used – the Turnlee stone looks almost like a hard-wearing granite, whereas King Street seems more like a local gritstone. But I admit I am no geologist, so if anyone knows any better, please do shout out and correct me.

These are not the pretty bits of archaeology; the fancy buildings, the lovely pottery, the flint, the burial mounds, the Roman fort. Instead, this is simply the nuts and bolts of it – a road surface. And yet it has that vital link to the past, that important accessibility, that allows us a glimpse underneath the modern, and for that, I find them endlessly fascinating.

Right-ho! That’s all for now. My only New Year’s resolution this year is to publish more on the website, but to make the articles smaller, and thus quicker to write. I have another almost written, so I’ll go with that soon, and I’m working on all manner of other things, too.

Until then, though, look after yourselves, and each other, and please do get in contact with any thoughts or comments.

I remain, your humble servant,

TCG

Slate
Archaeology · Dinting · History · Where / When

Slate

Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

What ho, wonderful folk! Apologies for not publishing something sooner than today… truthfully, I have been a little overwhelmed and burnt out. Recent events have caught up with me, and I’m tired and somewhat sore; nothing a breather couldn’t fix, but sometimes it all becomes a little too much – please do listen to your bodies and minds, as they will often steer you on a correct course. Anyhoo, I’m back, and happy to be so. So here we are, with a long overdue post.

Last March, I went on a little Wander with a friend and family (hello GW). We had set off to do the first Where/When Wander, but having kids with us, we ended up playing around in the land by the allotments and behind Dinting Station. Aside from the fact that the area is interesting from a historical perspective (being connected with Dinting Station, and filled with old bits and pieces), it was also the location of the old Dinting Railway Centre/Museum. I vaguely remember visiting the museum several times as a child, and I recently bought a vintage guidebook on Ebay to try and fully remember what it was I went to.

The centre finally closed in 1990, and whilst all the trains and exhibition pieces moved elsewhere, the infrastructure – rails, and platforms, and buildings – all remains (here is a good article about the museum’s rise and fall, and there’s loads about it on the internet). Central in this wasteland – or forest of Silver Birch – the Engine Shed still stands, alone, derelict, and graffiti covered.

Here’s what it looked like in 1967, before the Railway Museum…
And here’s a similar shot, nearly 60 years later, and after having been a museum in the meantime. Blimey! Honestly, the building is in there.
Our old friend Boof makes an appearance, here represented by his/her older tag, and a newer (2025) bubble piece. His/her tag is all over the site.
Some of it is quite good, this piece in particular ‘OMENS’ (strangely unsigned, presumably Omens is their ‘tag’), and this one…
…are very artfully done. Love the window in the background/part of of this one.
So this is interesting. Because I am that sort of person, I knew this was something when I saw it. Rather bafflingly, this is the sigil of Foras, one of the 72 demons mentioned in the 17th century Lesser Key of Solomon. Apparently he was the president of Hell, and was associated with precious metals, logic, and lost things. Quite why his sigil is painted on the wall here is beyond me; teenage rebellion or demonic invasion? You decide.

Anyway, comparing the photographs of then with now is really quite interesting, and shows just how quickly nature retakes land back, even heavily used and industrialised land such as this. Give it another 100 years, and there will be very little recognisable, 500 years and it’ll need an archaeological excavation to make any sense of the site; understanding site formation processes like this is vital as an archaeologist, and our case study is right here.

But today’s article is less about the centre, and more about a single aspect of the site. As generally happens, when a building is left derelict and unused, it slowly breaks down, and this is the case with Dinting station’s southern waiting room. Built in 1884, when the original 1848 station was rebuilt, you can see it from the train behind a fence; overgrown, derelict, absolutely terrifying. However, I didn’t know you could access the station from the back, via the patch of ground we were exploring. Well, I mean to say… one cannot simply say no when such gifts are presented to one! I had a brief explore! Brief because: a) I was probably trespassing, although it is very unclear to be honest (and I was by no means the only person there that day… or even that hour!), and b) we had children with us, and the place is phenomenally dangerous, with broken glass, falling masonry, and Jove knows what else. It was also going dark, and, I’m not going to lie to you, the place is spooky! Before we go on, I am also going to insert a cautionary statement here: I absolutely do not endorse you going to the place to look, and in fact recommend you don’t. So I took a very few, mostly terrible, photographs, and scarpered.

The station building from afar… the Silver Birch trees are amazing in this photo – and I actually find them frightening here.
Random brickwork, and an odd framed shot of a corner with shamfered edged stone. Look, I had a quick look around, and then legged it! I wasn’t taking my time with perfection!
Lovely Stoneware bottle; possibly a large ink bottle, but I suspect it is something more industrial – a chemical or oil, perhaps. The whole area is filled with burnt cinders and rubbish, amongst which are many interesting finds.
It’s a beautiful building. Or at least could be. These windows are lovely, but then through them you can see sky through the roof. How long does this place have left before it all collapses? Who knows.
The doorway, with what looks like a Cheshire sandstone lintel. I honestly feel something should be done about preserving this building. I don’t know what could be done with it, but something more than just leaving it to rot… surely?

So I had a quick look around, as you do, and in doing so, I noticed that the whole roof of the exterior platform area had collapsed, seemingly as one, and the floor was littered with rotting wooden roofing and broken slates. And then I saw it… a single slate seemed to have survived intact-ish. I pulled it up and thought… I say, here’s a nice little blog entry! And so here we are:

Amazingly, it had both copper nails still in-situ, and whilst it has broken a little at the top, it allows us to see how it was made.

The rougher edges are very characteristic, and I think I can see the result of individual hammer blows. Possibly.

Geologically, slate is dense, and was laid down in thin layers, which allows us to quarry it and split it into relatively thin sheets using a hammer and chisel. It is further shaped using a soft hammer whilst over hanging a hard edge (or later using a machine, although still hand held). There is a fascinating YouTube video here that shows the whole process, for those who like to know… it makes it look so easy! This gives it the characteristic nibbled edges.

The different areas of dark colouring on the slate itself is the result of differential exposure to smoky polluted air, with the bluer/greyer bits being protected by wood or other slates.

The holes to take the nails were made probably with a metal punch – a single blow delivered from a hammer on one side, and the force of the strike spread and created a characteristic ‘exit wound’, much wider than the entry.

The ‘entry wound’. I wonder if these have been partly drilled before being punched?
The devastating ‘exit wound’.

Looking at the nails themselves, they are fairly standard mid/late Victorian copper nails, hand finished, and square in section.

I honestly love these things.
The back side, showing the nail through the hole.

These wonderful things seem to be attracted to me, and I find them all over Glossop, or maybe it’s just I’m always looking down (I’m going to be Richard III-like before I’m 60 at this rate). And, as I can never resist them when I find them, I have quite a few, here in CG towers. I say “quite a few” like it’s 10 or 12. I actually have hundreds of the buggers, hiding in labelled bags, naturally, and hidden in drawers, but shhhhhh… don’t tell Mrs CG, this sort of thing makes her twitch. I wrote a little about how they are made, here, in this article, 8 years ago… man, do I feel old!

What a difference Welsh roof slates would have made to housebuilding. As I type this, I sit under a roof made from locally sourced gritstone (I think I can see the quarry from my house); each roof tile is an inch thick, solid stone, and I bet the whole roof must weigh somewhere in the region of 5 tonnes, with each individual tile moved up and positioned by hand. I watched them do it when my roof was re-laid, and it took a long time. Now think of the slate; each tile weighs a tenth of the stone one, meaning more could be carried up and laid quicker, it costs less per tile, and overall does the same job, but at a fraction of the weight of the roof, meaning smaller beams could be used. It’s no wonder that Welsh slate tiles took over almost immediately, ironically being brought here – safely and quickly – by the train. In fact, you can use the presence or absence of a slate roof as a quick and easy way of dating the buildings here in Glossop: stone roof, built pre-1850(ish), slate roof, post 1850(ish)

So there you go. Right, I have another article almost finished, and I’ll try to get it out to you before New Year, but I’m not going to make any promises! Just know that I’m always trying, but sometimes life gets in the way of this, what I want to actually be doing with my time!

Before I pop off, the new Where/When is now available – woohoo! #8 – The Bullsheaf Shuffle.

This edition is a great one! Two smaller Wanders to tickle your festive season.

Two Wanders, both starting and finishing at a pub in Old Glossop, and neither very long, but all filled with history – medieval field systems, prehistoric remains, Ordnance Survey benchmarks, Roman roads (or not!), post-medieval trackways, Georgian buildings, a Victorian rifle range, and bits of pottery! A perfect stocking filler, available from here, or from Dark Peak Books, in High Street West, Glossop. All back issues are also in stock again, too, so knock yourself and grab a couple!

Right then, I’m off. Lots to do, annoyingly – the Christmas season is so wonderful, but equally is a real faff! As is work… and real life. However, until we next meet, please do look after yourselves and each other – you are all very important, even if you don’t know how, and to whom.

And I remain, your humble servant.

TCG

Marking Time
Archaeology · Bench Marks · Mason's Marks · Where / When

Marking Time

Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

What ho, wonderful, and slightly odd, folk of the blog reading sort. I hope you are all as well as can be expected, and as we move into autumn, you get out an about as much as you can – always keeping an eye open for pottery and other interesting things.

Which sort of leads me to today’s offering. It’s a mixture, to be honest, some updates, some new stuff, but all interesting. I have said before that I always have multiple half-written articles on the go, all moving at different speeds – but for one reason or another, none leapt out at me asking to be finished. So here we are… Marking Time!

I’ve always been obsessed with the idea of humans marking their surroundings, and the notions of permanence, even immortality, that accompany this; from palaeolithic cave art to bronze age cup and ring markings, to 17th century building datestones, to Victorian carved graffiti, to modern tags – and I’m looking here at you, Boof, whose name is everywhere around Glossop at the moment – it all amounts to broadly the same thing: marking time.

Datestones update: As always, I am on the lookout for more datestones of a pre Victorian date (pre-1837). I recently bagged this:

Herod Farm, Whitley Nab

Wonderful – ‘I.M. 1703’ – to the point, although I have no idea who I (or more likely J) M is. I have a whole article about Herod Farm and the surrounding area in progress, but wanted to share the datestone with you.

*UPDATE*

The always knowledgeable Roger Hargreaves emailed me a comment he tried to post on the site – technical issues prevented it, but here it is:

The “JM” on the Herod Farm datestone will be John Morton, who in 1692 succeeded his father, also John, as leaseholder of the adjacent Lees Hall.  It’s likely that he then demolished the mediaeval hall which had been the main farming base of the Talbots and before them Basingwerk Abbey as Lords of the Manor.  At the rear of Herod Farm is an elaborate window which has clearly come from somewhere else and is likely to be surviving fabric from the demolished hall, giving some idea of what it must have been like.

So there we have it – John Morton, and a teaser about the Lees Hall – a fascinating place, with a long history, and possibly a moat! Well worth an article and more. Thanks Roger, your input is always much appreciated.

Update to the Gatepost article: We recently bought a campervan, a mobile home with beds and a stove, and all that. It’s marvellous, and is unmissably yellow, or more truthfully YELLOW! (give a shout and wave if you see it around). Our first adventure camping was to Peak Forest, near Buxton, and coming home we decided to take an odd route for the sake of exploration – a vehicular Wander, if you will. Coming through Wheston, south-east of Chapel-en-le-Frith, we came across lots of gateposts, modern and made of concrete, but each marked with initials and dates:

I have no idea who CTH is – presumably the farmer who is replacing gateposts – but I salute your attention to detail – initials and date – and respect your devotion to tradition; earlier, 19th century, examples of dated gateposts can be found here. It might be concrete, but the idea is exactly the same, and I want to buy you, CTH, a glass of the stuff that cheers. Wonderful.

Next we have things seen on pavements… Glossop seems to have inherited the whole street paving slabs second-hand from somewhere. I seem to remember a whole hoo-ha about these stones, and others, occurring maybe 20 years ago – their origin and how much was paid for them… or something. Whatever, but what is certain is that they have some interesting markings on them, and all of these were seen between Costa Coffee and the Norfolk Arms – almost certainly more await discovery, so look down people:

A simple cross, formed of two chisel strokes.
‘1 – 7’ with the ‘1’ formed apparently by three chisel strokes, the ‘seven ‘7’ by three down and two across. No idea of the meaning.
A cross, and a hole filled with a lead plug. It’s difficult to imagine what this large flat stone would need a hole with a lead fixing for – it’s not like it was used for a gatepost or similar. I genuinely cant imagine what or why!

Finally we have this beauty:

Where to start?

So, we have a name in the bottom left, clumsily written – ‘Joseph’ something or other… D? B? Can anyone make out this? The second letter could be an ‘E’. Possibly. But then we have what might be a landscape – the top right looks like a fat sun, drawn by a child, to me. And in the centre, at the bottom, possibly a house (I think I can see the roof and walls, with perhaps a person in it). This is really an enigma – a name, and a piece of art, undatable, and probably from a place far from Glossop… but imagine if we could put a person to it. And all this, lying under our feet.

Other bits and pieces under our feet include markings on kerbs:

A simple ‘T’, probably referring to Telephone, and marking where the cable came into a property.

This is also sometimes marked by ‘GPO’ on kerbs, standing for General Post Office who were originally (from 1880’s until 1981) responsible for telephone communications. I once found an example on a kerb on Howard Street, but had not been able to find it since, until I came back from a blood test at the clinic there, and this was picked out of the dark by street lights:

Wonderfully carved, this was, I assume, where the telephones for the train station entered the buildings.
Another ‘T’, but this one in Old Glossop seems to have an errant exclamation mark after it!
Another slightly odd kerbside marking – an ‘E’, which is believe marks the place where electricity cables enter a property. It is quite common, although in this case it is accompanied by an ‘S’ and a ‘T’, the meaning of which I have no idea.

I also saw this on Princess Street – another marker showing where electricity enters a property – this is also quite a commonly found one.

A no frills, very clear and functional, EL!

Here’s another mark that is commonly seen: a simple arrow, but not like the Ordnance Survey benchmark arrow, this is normally crudely carved, thin, and without the horizontal line above it… thus:

Literally an arrow, pointing.

This is another of those that points to a service – gas, possibly, or electricity – entering a building, although I truthfully don’t know… any help would be welcome.

However, here is a Benchmark, newly found by me, under the railway bridge on Arundel Street, and which marks 501ft 8″ above sea level:

Worn, and almost camouflaged, there it is.

Also on the bridge are these single holes, often found in the upper part of the stone:

And here…

These small, shallow, holes were made in order to use a pincer, or external, Lewis and frame in order to move the blocks. A genius invention, it’s a simple iron tool that, via a chain, uses the weight of the block itself to hold it fast whilst it is moved, and enables even a single person to shift a huge piece of stone. But it requires a shallow hole in order to provide a point that gives a good grip. I love these, as they allow us to view how the bridge was built.

Another example of us viewing the method by which these wonderful Victorian structures were built is this:

Very characteristic.

Often occurring in pairs, these are drill marks made by quarrymen, into the rock face, which allow them to insert a splitter to pry away the stone from the quarry face. Once seen, they are very recognisable, and are the scars that show how, with a little physics and a lot of brute force, rock can be shifted.

Howard Street, which meets the Arundel Street bridge, has a few, sporadic, mason’s marks along the stretch of railway walling here:

A cross.
A ‘T’.

Low key, and not very common, these nonetheless represent the ‘signatures‘ of the men who shaped these stones. The cross is a common mark carved on stones – it is literally two strokes with a chisel – so it cannot be definitively linked to those masons who built Dinting Arches, but you never know.

Other mason’s marks can be found around…

A ‘B’, upended.

This is found on a lump of masonry from Wood’s Mill, and now stands where Wood’s Mill once stood, now Glossop Brook View, and by the houses there. Post-1842 in date, although possibly early, the mark was hidden until the mill was demolished – the rough dressing of the block indicates that it was never meant to be seen. I wonder who ‘B’ was.

Another, difficult to see.

This last one is on the gatepost of the Crown Inn, Victoria Street (although the gates are on Hollincross Lane); very faint – and difficult to photograph – they are in the angular shape of a fish.

I also spotted this on Howard Street:

February 2022.

A dated piece of cement. This is either dated proof of work done – a modern form of mason’s mark – or possibly a dated repair that allows Network Rail to observe cracks forming and assess integrity. Either way, it’s kind of cool!

Finally, some bits of carved graffiti, a particular favourite of mine.

A single ‘J’ on the wall of Heath Barn, Heath.
‘S’ ‘H’ on the wall of Glossop Church.
Also on the north wall of Glossop churchyard, on Church Street – initials – R C J W P. The arrangement is odd, and I wonder if they were 4 members of a single family, with the surname ‘J’. That could surely be traced if it was the case!
‘W’ ‘A’ (photo from Suze Hill)
‘W’ ‘G’ (photo from Suze Hill)

These last two were from the bridge over the Longdendale Trail on Padfield Main Road. The whole bridge has a lot of graffiti carved on it, including this wonderful example:

Old and the new. I love this photograph, and am very proud of it!

Here we have Victorian carved graffiti – ‘J.H’, possibly, along with some more letters, undecipherable under the frost, over an early incarnation of the now famous (infamous) BOOF graffiti tag made with a spraycan. I find it interesting that we would condemn one, but praise the other as historical and interesting. When does vandalism become history and worthy of study? A bigger discussion, and one I find fascinating (akin to when does something become archaeology?). I know graffiti, as in modern graffiti – put it down to a misspent youth and a love (despite appearances to the contrary) of Hip Hop – and I have followed BOOF’s career with a certain interest.

So here I shall leave it. Making marks, and marking time – it’s all about trying to achieve immortality, to leave your mark long after you are gone, and making people remember you, even if they don’t know who you are. I think that’s all any of us, myself included, can hope for. There are so many examples of this phenomena in the Glossop area, and I have an idea to produce a book looking at precisely this sort of thing – watch this space.

Talking of books, please check out Where/When Number 7 – Forts and Crosses: A Mellor Wander.

This one is a truly awesome Wander around Mellor – just over yonder! It has medieval field systems and farms, Victorian noise, an Iron Age hill fort, medieval crosses, cracking views, a terrifying viaduct, bench marks, a trig point, wonderful gateposts, and it starts and finishes at a pub… what’s not to love? Here’s the cover to tempt you.

Available from the shop, link above, or from Dark Peak Books and Gifts, High Street West, Glossop. Or, you know, just track me down and throw money at me.

Talking of which… if you enjoyed this, and fancy buying me a glass of the stuff that cheers, then please do so via this link to my Ko-Fi page. I do what I do here because I love doing it, and I feel it’s important we explore our shared heritage… but I’ll never say no to a pint in thanks!

So much more news to share, and so many things planned. Watch this space, wonderful people, as big things are coming.

But on a serious level, how are you doing? Genuine question. Personally, I’m a little down at the mo… the devastating loss of my brother (cheers Stephen, I’ll miss you), coupled with a dose of Covid, and the general malaise that accompanies the move from summer into autumn and winter, has meant a lull in the festivities here at CG Towers. Still, the wheel turns, the seasons they change, and life will inevitably continue, and on we go. But as I always say, look after yourselves and each other, you really are important, and too often we say “I’m aright” when we actually mean “I’m not alright, please help” – it’s ok to not be ok.

So then, more coming, but until next time, I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG

A Fireplace Finds Frenzy
Archaeology · Mason's Marks · Pottery · Pottery Guide

A Fireplace Finds Frenzy

Tim Campbell-Green3 Comments

What ho! Autumn is here… it was cold this morning, and leaves are already turning, and hopefully this article will be published on the Autumn Equinox. Probably. I mean to say… that’s what I’m aiming for*. It’s been a very weird and stressful week or two for a variety of reasons too complicated to go into here, but in the spirit of hopefully moving on, I present this short(ish) offering, which I hope satisfies at least the craving for pottery.

*Ok, so I failed… but only by two days.

So, I have a large inglenook style fireplace in my house, and the hearthstone in front of the wood burner in said fireplace has, much to the annoyance of Mrs CG, become something of a drying and sorting zone for the bits and pieces I have found along the course of my normal life! And precisely because the nights are getting colder, and the burner might need to be used soon, I am forced to clear up the archaeology. Well… hold my glass of stuff that cheers, as the saying goes, the challenge has been accepted.

There they are, on the hearthstone.

It’s interesting in that it represents a sort of snapshot of the kinds of things I have found very recently, and actually from all over, too, not just Glossop. I’ve also tried to keep to my new rule of only keeping things that I find interesting, or that you might find interesting – so no more simple and plain Blue and White Transfer Printed Ware or similar. And in all honesty, I won’t keep some of this, and I’ll return it. Anyway – here we go.

Lovely stuff.

First up, a Derbyshire Salt Glaze Stoneware bottle base, with a diameter of 8cm – you can see the ‘orange-peel’ effect of the salt glaze on the exterior. It probably contained some form of drink, perhaps alcoholic, and although they often contained ink, too, I think it would have been to nice for that, with the fancy groove running around the bottom. The interior is also glazed, and has wonderful grooves, evidence of how the bottle was hand made on a potter’s wheel.

The rising of the grooves on the inside, showing where the potter pulled the clay into the bottle shape.

Next up is this lovely teacup sherd in an unusual colour. Measuring 9cm in diameter, it seems to have straight sides, and is decorated with what might be a tree in front of stormy clouds, or perhaps just clouds, in a brown and yellow transfer. It’s probably 20th century in date, and it’s odd, but I quite like it.

Found in Alexandra Park, Oldham, having been dug out of a badger’s sett in the woods.

Next up, a chimney…

A tiny sherd of transfer printed ware, dating to the late Victorian period, and showing what was probably a cottage scene, of which the roof and chimney is the only bit to survive. I couldn’t leave that behind, could I? Found on the footpath by Pyegrove, Glossop.

Next we have a…

…copper roof nail. Found at the top end of Whitfield Cross, the result of someone having roof work done, with the old nail being pulled out and the slate replaced. Contrary to what I had thought, the nail is not bent accidentally, but rather it is driven into the wooden battens a short distance, and then bent over deliberately in order to secure the slate in place. Lovely stuff; I love the colour, but also the square shape in section of the shaft. I wrote a little about them and how they were made, here, and oddly they seem to seek me out – I’m always finding them in the street, and I have hundreds!

Next up, a Victorian clay pipe stem:

Awful shot, but I think I am due to get a new phone soon…

The pipe stem and mouthpiece is to the left, and the bowl should have been to the right – the bit that sticks down is the spur of the pipe. This sort of thing.

Interestingly, the spur – designed to keep the pipe from rolling around and to keep the hot bowl from burning surfaces – has a circular (or annular) maker’s mark or decoration on it. I have no more information to offer, sadly, but I think it is quite a common marking. Love it!

I also love this:

I know, I know… I haven’t washed it!

A lovely sherd of Victorian Hand-Painted pottery. You can see (through the mud – apologies) the individual brush strokes that make up the delicate blue flower that once adorned a probable . I have the next Rough Guide to Pottery planned that, among other pottery types, looks at this Hand-Painted stuff; you lucky people, you! Anyway, enough of the shouting and cursing… this was also found on the Pyegrove path, as indeed was this next one:

I think this was well used and quite worn when it went into the ground.

It’s a sherd of Industrial Slipware, in a lovely pale grey colour, and, measuring a diameter of 14cm, it’s probably a rim to a Georgian/early 19th century Mocha Ware open bowl, perhaps like this:

Found on the internet and shamelessly stolen – you could have bought this lovely example from only $225, which is probably well worth it.

The next two were found on the track from Pyegrove to Old Glossop – along the track to Hall Fold:

Another rim sherd.

and…

And a bit of a body sherd – tiny, really, but characteristic.

The first sherd is a rim sherd from a large open bowl or plate, and is in a 17th century Midlands Yellow Ware. It’s impossible to get a rim diameter – despite being a rim sherd – because it is such a small fragment (thus we see the limits of the Rim Chart). However, it is chunky and well made, so it is likely to be large, and as it is a relatively fine fabric, so it is likely to be later in date. Probably.

The second sherd is a fragment of a Manganese Glazed vessel. Honestly, I have no idea about the shape – most are open, rather than a closed shape, and this has glaze on the interior and exterior, which also suggests open shape. Date… 17th to very early 18th century.

Both of these are lovely bits, and really bring home the age of these trackways that I keep banging on about! I have a future blog post planned… don’t worry.

Next is this wonderful thing:

The low evening sunlight really brings out the features.

A single piece of lead came – window lead. This lead came held the small pieces of window glass together to make up a window, and is made by squeezing the lead through a former, whose cogs leave grooves in the lead. It seems that, as a rule of thumb, the smaller the gaps between these ‘reeds’, the newer the came, and vice versa. So it seems that this piece of came is quite early – 17th, or possibly 16th century? It was found on the banks of Erwood Reservoir, near Buxton, along with a whole pile of other 17th century material (the subject of a future article, especially as it very much mimics the same material found on the valley sides around here). This is the fabric of a long lost farm, and I wonder who last looked through the glass it once held.

And to finish this ramshackle wander around my hearthstone, I present the following: a mason’s mark from the railway bridge at the bottom of the Hayfield Road (A624) at Chinley.

In the central larger stone.

Here’s what it looks like:

A rough sketch from my catalogue of mason’s marks in the area.

I realise that it’s not really a fireplace related thing, but I like this sort of thing, and so do most of you, and besides… I don’t know where else to put it! It’s one of several examples of this mark on the bridge, and has maddeningly resisted me taking a photograph for one reason or another. However, the other day we were travelling in our new camper van, and all the planets aligned, and I managed to get this snap! Whilst very similar, it’s not like any of the others in the area that I have documented, and whilst this is disappointing, it makes sense as there were hundreds of stonemasons working on building the rail network in the early to mid-Victorian period (the line here was opened in 1867). This whole area is interesting, and following the construction of the railway, the road system was monkeyed around with, with roads no longer connecting, or moved over and replaced by newer ones. I should explore it a little, who knows what might be uncovered.

In terms of mason’s marks, I’m still toying with the idea of a project that studies all the marks, to catalogue, photograph, and cross reference them. If anyone fancies coming with me on a few walks to make this happen – from Broadbottom to Longdendale, and then the Chinley Line, perhaps – give me a shout.

So, there you go, the Fireplace Finds Frenzy… I hope you enjoyed it.

More soon, honestly. But until then, I know I say this every month, but please do look after yourselves and each other; I have recently learned just how important this is, and in particular, you never know when your time is up.

And as always, I remain, your humble servant.

TCG

Whitfield Green Wondering
Archaeology · Pottery · Whitfield

Whitfield Green Wondering

Tim Campbell-Green1 Comment

What ho! Fancy meeting you all here…

Happy summer everyone! I hope the season finds you in good form… or at least not in actively terrible form. Having recently celebrated a somewhat significant birthday with a trip to Naples area – Pompeii and Herculaneum included – I returned exhausted, and filled to the gunwales with pizza, wonderful wine, and archaeology, which pretty much sums up my life, to be fair. I can heartily recommend such a trip, although it was a tad expensive, and I can now only just about afford to camp in my own garden!

Whilst I was there, I actually wrote a blog post about a Wander to the beach I made, and that I thought you might enjoy; this was meant to be it. But I haven’t finished it yet, obviously, and so we have to remain close to home today. I mean, it’s not quite as glamorous as Pompeii or the Bay of Naples, but Whitfield is just as interesting. Kind of.

Anyway, I’ve often wondered about this place – Whitfield Green – a farm that is marked on older maps, but which is clearly no longer there.

For the sake of orientation, Whitfield Green is in green, The Beehive is just off the map, but indicated by the top arrow, and Derbyshire Level is indicated by the other arrow.

I mean, the building is clearly old, and is clearly marked Whitfield Green, but I can find absolutely no information out about the place. So I went exploring…

Firstly, the roads. The whole area around Derbyshire Level and Lean Town has been monkeyed with following the Whitfield Enclosure of 1813, so it is sometimes difficult to see exactly what went where before that point. Map work and physical walking helps, and it seems the road originally went along the lines of the red line in the map below – it continuing straight at Lane Ends Farm, instead of kinking left as it does now, and continues to Whitfield Green, thus:

You can see a hollow where the field edge is now, and it is visible on LIDAR.

The site of Whitfield Green is indicated by the red arrow, and the hollow trackway – now a hedge and fence – is indicated by the green arrow.

From here (with numerous branches, and marked in red below), this track would go under Lean Town, and then onto Gnat Hole, and then to Chunal – unbelievably, it was once the main route from Glossop and Whitfield to the south – Buxton, Chapel en le Frith, etc.! However, when the Enclosures happened, one of the stipulations in the act of parliament was the building of wide solid roads – hence we have Derbyshire Level, which, whilst incorporating numerous existing routes, was a totally new road – no wonder when you look at state of the roads at that point. In fact, so bad were the roads that Glossop historian Ralph Bernard Robinson, writing in 1863, noted that

“Glossop, till a comparatively recent period, was a place difficult of approach, and, in some circumstances almost impassable, owing to the nature of the roads. They seem to have no roads but such as the Romans, ages before, had made for them.”

This paints a very different picture of this area of Whitfield, and makes it seem that Whitfield Green was more than simply a farm in the middle of nowhere. I wonder.

So it is at this point, with the radical shake up of the roads that followed the Enclosure Act, that many of the trackways with which I am obsessed become obsolete, and so it is with the red trackway, the access track to Whitfield Green – it simple ceases to be needed as the new road that goes down to Lean Town was made, and a new access track came off it. This is the footpath you now walk down in order to get to where Whitfield Green once stood (marked in green in the map above). Kidd Road was once known as Whitfield Green Road, and actually, I suspect that it once went across the field and that this ‘new’ access path is in fact the old route preserved, once the whole area had been monkeyed with (marked in blue, above).

Indeed, Derbyshire Level, and the spur around Moorfield, combined with the Turnpike Road (Charlestown Road) meant that there were now new solid roads along which to travel, and thus the old muddy route below Lean Town and through Gnat Hole was no longer used, and the whole became footpaths. It also meant that new farms could be built, and it is at this point that I think Whitfield Green Farm was built, just to the north of Whitfield Green (circled in yellow above). It is still there, but is very difficult to see without being arrested for “acting suspiciously near an innocent person’s house”… again. It has a stone roof (so making pre-1850ish), but there is nothing that points to it being older that the first half of the 19th century, and I suspect that once the new Lean Town road was made in 1820, someone took the opportunity to build a new farm there.

We know Whitfield Green was there in the 1920’s, but no longer appears on maps from the 1960’s onwards, so presumably it was demolished between those dates. A pity, but there you go, such is the nature of progress. Thus, the timeline seems to be:

1720 (ish – maybe before, maybe after) – Whitfield Green built on existing track (in red), and also accessed via another track (Kidd Road, in blue)

1806 – Lean Town built on the same (red) trackway

1810-13 – Whitfield Enclosure Act, and thus…

1820 – New roads made, including Lean Town road, and access to Whitfield Green comes from that now (albeit via an existing track).

1825 (ish) – Whitfield Green Farm (the new one) built (in yellow)

1950 (ish) – Whitfield Green demolished

That seems to tally with what we know, but if you think differently, let me know – click the ‘contact’ button at the top, or leave a comment… I’m always happy to hear from you.

So what did I find when I went to look at where Whitfield Green once stood, I hear you ask. Well, I’m glad you asked, because I found:

A stone stile. Lots of the paths around here have these, presumably to prevent anything other than foot traffic from using them. I wonder if they were put in when the newer – and toll paying – roads were created in order to stop packhorse trains using them. There are different types too, and I wonder if they were put in at different times.
Here’s where the Whitfield Green once stood, against this hedge line. Nowt there now.

However, look closer and…

Shaped stones in-situ. These have not been moved into this position, this is where they were, and are the remains of the farmhouse… although what part is unclear.
And here is a stone-flagged floor. I wonder who – apart from the current farmer and their cows – stood on these last? They have to have been internal, so a part of the farmhouse proper, rather than the yard outside. Hmmm…
More stonework; in the world of archaeology, 3 stones in a row make a wall, so…
There’s also a huge pile of stone nearby, and whilst not a large farm’s worth of walling, I assume most of the rubble would have been re-used as drystone walling.
And a lot of it has been shaped, and rather than it being the product of a removed drystone wall… we are looking at the remains of a farmhouse.

It was the flagged floor that really brought it home that this was actually once a house; I love that moment when archaeology meets actual lived life; spooky, yet intimate, an odd feeling. It would be great to have a proper scrape around and uncover more of whatever remains.

And pray what, if anything, did you find there, you strange, pottery obsessed, person, you? Well, I’m glad you asked that, too:

The expected ‘noise’ of Victorian pottery – Blue and White Transfer Printed, mainly (with some black printed), as well as one sherd of ‘Flow Blue’, and a possible sherd of Shell Edged.
Left is a wonderful bird; Victorian, and not at all rare, but the phoenix-like image is lovely. Right is an odd one – moulded, so the decoration in 3d, it is highlighted in both underglaze (blue) and over glaze (green). Again, not rare, but not commonly encountered… and nice.
Clay pipes… the cigarette butt of the Victorian period! I love them, but honestly… Stems and a bit of a bowl, nothing particularly interesting, although…
…the bowl has burn marks on the inside, evidence of the last drag!
Left – 3 sherds of Industrial Slipware (1800-1900) – almost certainly bowls; right is a sherd of a Victorian ‘Brown Betty‘ teapot, still made if you feel the need (I do!).
Top from a Victorian blacking bottle.

So far, so Victorian. However, against this background there were several sherds of older pottery lying around:

Early 18th century Staffordshire Slipware platter – roughly 1700-1740. The underside shows a slight red slip, and a line made in the clay during manufacture, possibly the result of moving the leather hard pot – pre-fired – over a rough surface.

Then there is this lovely thing, and I am aware that ‘lovely’ is an entirely subjective concept.

Lovely… honestly!

It’s the wide strap handle to a large cooking pot – this sort of thing:

Taken from here

The fabric is unusual, though – very hard, with a purple colour, and a black and white mixture of inclusions – it’s a sort of Midland Purpleware, almost Cistercian Ware, and not at all like the normal Black Glazed stuff that you associate with Pancheons. Lovely stuff.

Also, there is the brown stoneware. Some Victorian Derbyshire Stoneware, but also early 18th century Nottingham Stoneware:

The two handle fragments at the top probably come from a tankard, again early-mid 18th century, and the bottom left bit I think comes from a bottle. The sherd in the centre come from a strange shaped lid… I think. It’s odd.

And finally, I found this:

A ‘Tombac’ button; Tombac is an alloy that has a high copper content (80-95%) mixed with zinc.

Shiny (though sadly scratched), it still has the silver looking surface – which it was designed to do – and is a lovely thing to hold… that personal touch, again (you can see a better preserved example here). The back shows signs of it breaking down (the green bloom of copper), but also the reddish iron rust of where the loop that once held it in place was. This button is nothing special as such, it is plain, and of relatively poor quality, but it is dateable as Tombac plain buttons such as these were used from mid-18th century onwards (stopping perhaps late 19th). I love this thing… so intimate. Did it belong to someone who lived on the farm? Perhaps.

So there we have it… the farm. As to what it looked like – well I have found no photographs, but I would suggest it looks like this farmhouse on Hague Street; it’s about the right age, and has a similar layout/shape – although Whitfield Green is larger – and is also divided into two dwellings. Interestingly, they both face south-west. I hadn’t noticed before putting them on the page, but it makes sense as it maximises sunlight, and thus light in general.

Left is the Hague Road farmhouse, right is Whitfield Green, from the 1:500 town map, and stolen shamelessly from the NLS website.

There is no information in any of the usual books, and there are only a few references to it online. According to the ever wonderful and always useful GJH website, a Robert Wood, born in 1713, is described as being of Whitfield Green, as indeed is his son. So we know that by 1740 or so? the farm is there, and it suggests that the name of the farm is simply Whitfield Green, and that the later building took the name Whitfield Green Farm to distinguish it. There are later references, but this seems to be the earliest, and thus we have the name of someone who may have walked on those flags, and who may even have worn the button.

Well, that’s your lot for this month. I’ll try and get round to posting another one if I can – more pottery, obviously (ignoring the groans).

**EDIT**

I went back to the site today, blackberry picking with Family TCG, and I found this lovely little sherd of Manganese Mottled Ware:

It was just lying on the surface of the track… a gift if you will.

Its from a cup or tankard, and dates to the last part of the 17th century or early 18th, so within the range of our building. Or perhaps we should revise the date back a bit? Certainly the late 17th century saw a lot of building work in the Glossop area, as a glance at the Datestone post will show you. Again, a little excavation (or a photograph!) would show us a bit more.

In other news, the new Where/When will be out soon – more info when it happens, but this one is a truly awesome Wander around Mellor – just over yonder! It has medieval field systems and farms, Victorian noise, Iron Age hill fort, medieval crosses, cracking views, a terrifying viaduct, bench marks, a trig point, wonderful gateposts, and it starts and finishes at a pub… what’s not to love? Here’s the cover to tempt you.

Righty ho, I’m off. I have housework to do before I’m allowed a glass of the stuff that cheers – Mrs CG’s rules, which I can’t help feel is unfair… into every life a drop of rain must fall, and all that.

More soon, I promise, but until then, look after yourselves and each other. I remain,

Your humble servant,

TCG

Gateposts
Archaeology · Bench Marks · Graffiti · Standing Stones

Gateposts

Tim Campbell-GreenLeave a comment

What ho, lovely people of the blog world. I hope you are all well as we hurtle headlong into summer, each of us fearing what terrible weather will mar an otherwise splendid season. Nevermind, this too shall pass and all that, and indeed we must grasp the nettle by the horns, or something, and make H whilst the S shines…

Today’s post is one of those brought about by happy coincidence, where a series of events conspire, almost waving at you, until you finally notice and say, loudly, “what ho… a blog post!” Or, in this case, a Gate Post. The first event was posting a few photographs on Twitter and Instagram (@roberthamnett on Twitter, and @timcampbellgreen on Instagram, for those of you who might fancy checking it out). Turns out I’m not the only one who likes a good gatepost or two. And then the next event was my seeing a tiny piece of metal in the soil whilst doing a recce for a Where/When (No.7, to be precise… Of Forts and Crosses: A Mellor Wander). All will become clear, honestly.

For years now I have been obsessed with gateposts. Mundane, utilitarian, and always overlooked, a good gatepost can be as interesting as a prehistoric standing stone to me, and truthfully, there is often very little difference: both made of stone, both standing upright, both important in the past, and also in the present. And if anything, gateposts have more interesting features! I mean, obviously prehistoric is fascinating, but they don’t really give us much to go on, whereas the later gateposts… well, read on.

They can be decorated – often just roughly dressed.

A simple rough dressing, to shape it in a uniform manner.

But sometimes some thought has gone into them, to create a pleasant design – which for a utilitarian functional object seemingly goes beyond what is needed.

A simple cross, surrounded by a border. I say simple… it takes some doing.

I mean, the only time you see the gateposts is when you are opening a gate to let sheep or cattle in and out, and it’s probably not something you’d see everyday. And even if you did, it’s only for a moment or two, it frankly doesn’t matter if it looks good, and I doubt farmers are wandering around making snarky comments about the plain decoration of another farmer’s gateposts. So why? What is the purpose behind them? I don’t mean they had some sort of secret meaning behind the decoration, rather they simply represent someone’s choices, but why those choices I wonder? Possibly it’s probably more to do with pride in the work taken by the stonemason who shaped it, perhaps a form of identifier: we know it’s person X who shaped it, as he always decorated it with a cross. But then there are those that go beyond simple decoration, and instead turn it into a work of art.

This is wonderful! The way it shifts from the upper band with a circular motif, to the lower aspect with the herringbone pattern is amazing. A lot of effort went into this.
This too, is truly wonderful. The circular motif, with a border, is just amazing. This post seems to be in the reddish Cheshire sandstone, which makes sense given that it, and the last gatepost was found in the Mellor area, rather than Glossop.

Other times, we find words and dates on gateposts. Often these are faded and barely legible, the weather and environment are not kind to these solid sentinels, and they have no shelter.

‘1856’, on the track from Fieldhead Farm to Whitfield Cross.
I went all arty with this shot… I’m quite proud of it! ‘1874’ in a very similar hand to that of the above gatepost – I wonder if it was the same person? This is on Kidd Road, just before its junction with Derbyshire Level.
Multiple ‘B’, ‘D’, and ‘O’ – from a post just by Fieldhead Farm.

The Ordnance Survey often use them to carry benchmarks – after all they’re not likely to be moved, and so are a safe and permanent marker for heights above sea level.

The line above the arrow is 682 ft above sea level, precisely.
This one is 716ft 2″ above sea level.
I love this photo… the grass almost mirrors the benchmark. Oddly, I don’t have a height for this mark – for some reason, no OS map I have come across shows its existence. Strange.

The fixtures and fittings of gateposts always fascinate me, too. Cast iron hoops and hooks, held in place by the tell tale grey/blue of lead. Sometimes you can only see the lead, the actual latch or pintle missing, it’s function no longer having purpose – it is just now a standing stone.

A now missing something or other, the metals eroding, staining the stone. It can get so bad that it actually kills the moss and lichen.
More something or other, now missing, but once important. The lead fixing is a tell-tale sign that the iron whatjamacallit is missing. I honestly love this, it really does show my theory of objects having a biography.
This is lovely… beautiful cast iron eyelet, twisted and shaped whilst red hot, and then held in place with lead. Although no longer needed to make the gatepost function – the modern steel gate does that (leaving it’s own scars on the stone) – it remains a part of its history.
Multiple phases of use, each leaving a mark.
Again, scars, but once meaning, purpose.
Hand made, and truly wonderful.

It was actually one of the lead fixings that I found that partly inspired this post. I saw what was obviously lead sticking out of the ground, and bending to remove it as I always do – it’s really not good for the environment – I realised it was bigger than I expected. I studied it for a moment trying to work out what it was, when suddenly: “aha” I thought “that’s a fixing“.

You can see rust on the inside, where the iron whatsit was held in place.

Looking at this lump, and using a small diagram, you can see what it is and how it worked. The long hollow through the middle once held the iron fixture – a pintle or latch, perhaps.

The iron whatsit was circular in section.

The shape of the lead piece is also a clue to how it actually held this in place. A hole is made into the side of the gatepost that needs the ironwork on it, with the lower part of the hole made deeper. The ironwork is placed in the hole, and the molten lead poured in using a funnel to hold it within the stone and around the iron whilst it cools.

If this makes sense.

When hardened, it forms a plug that is very difficult to move, keeping the iron work in place; clever, and elegantly simple. It’s also nice to see the ‘inside’ of the gatepost, or rather a cast of the inside, and one wonders why the lead has come away so intact from its original home – one can only imagine that the post itself was broken, freeing this fixing, which then found itself at my feet in the wilds of Derbyshire years later.

In terms of dates for these gateposts – well, it’s not clear. I think the more uniform stones, with a rounded head, are Georgian and Victorian – later 18th and 19th century. However, there are some that I think are significantly older – 17th, 16th, even 15th century, possibly. These are generally less formally worked, are shorter, and importantly are characterised by having a single straight hole through the stone a few feet above the ground.

Another arty shot, this one of the ancient gatepost on Hague Street.
Carrhouse Lane, Whitfield. And no, I didn’t stick my hand in the hole…

I was, until fairly recently, convinced that these were marker stones for trackways, the square hole perhaps taking a wooden pointer. However, I started to notice that this didn’t always fit the pattern, and despite multiple blog articles, twitter posts, and it even published in Where/When, I began to doubt this explanation. I then received an email that pretty much confirmed it for me (thank you PB, you amazing man!). In it, the author quoted a John Farey, whose 1815 book – General View of the Agriculture and Minerals of Derbyshire: With Observations on the Means of Their Improvement. Drawn Up for the Consideration of the Board of Agrigulture [sic] and Internal Improvement – gave the following quote:

Anciently, the Gates in the Peak Hundreds were formed and hung without any iron-work, even nails, as I have been told; and some yet remain in Birchover and other places, where no iron-work is used in the hanging: a large mortise-hole is made thro’ the hanging-post, perpendicular to the plane of the Gate, at about four feet and a half high, into which a stout piece of wood is firmly wedged, and projects about twelve inches before the Post; and in this piece of wood, two augur holes are made, to receive the two ends of a tough piece of green Ash or Sallow, which loosely embraces the top of the head of the Gate (formed to a round), in the bow so formed : the bottom of the head of the Gate is formed to a blunt point, which works in a hole made in a stone, set fast in the ground, close to the face of the Post. It is easy to see, by the mortise-holes in all old Gate-Stoops, that this mode of hanging Gates was once general.

Of course, it made sense, despite me banging on about them being marker stones. So, please accept my apologies for this; I am not always correct, and my knowledge is always growing. And thank you PB, who brought this to my attention – this is your discovery, not mine (you can read the book here – P.92 is the quote. There are about 20 of these gatepost types I know of, with many more awaiting discovery. And I actually think these are quite significant, as if we plot their location on a map, we might get a better grip on land use in the pre-industrial period. Marvellous.

I am obsessed with gateposts, and I want you to be, too. Everytime I pass one, I check it out, and often I am rewarded with some nugget of information, graffiti, decoration, or just a blast of the past. Let me know what you find via the contact page, and let’s keep an eye out for those holed ancient stones.

Right, I think that’s all for this month, and lucky you the next post will, I suspect, be a pottery post! Woohoo! I have found lots of cool stuff recently, and it all needs writing about. As always, I have about 30 projects ongoing, not all of which is coming to fruition anytime soon, but some will emerge relatively rapidly – watch this space. In the meantime, do please check out the Etsy store, or the Ko-Fi page – and feel free to buy me a beer coffee, or yourself a copy of Where/When, or even a t-shirt!

But until next time, please do look after yourselves and each other. I know I always say that, but you all matter, and we all need to take better care of each other… the world can be scary place at times, so lets band together and help each other.

And as always, I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG