A Box o’ Bits

March 16, 2024 Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

What ho, you wonderful people you, what ho!

Well, I have an interesting offering for you this time, and one that doesn’t involve pottery, sadly. I know, I know! I can hear your yells of pain and misery from here… and my how they sound like whoops of joy and celebration. Joy and pain are two sides of the same coin I suppose – the Yin to the whatsit, and all that. Although, I have to say the chap who appears to be doing a buck and wing clog dance whilst singing ‘Happy Days Are Here Again‘ does seem to be hiding his sadness a little too well… Hmmmm.

Anyway, I digress…

So, I have a friend who bakes cakes, she’s something of a connoisseur as it happens, and people are always giving her cakes as presents. Practically throwing them at her. I have another friend who takes his music very seriously, and people are always giving him records and cds with the words “I thought you might like this“. I have yet another friend who likes his beer, and scarcely a week goes by without someone bunging cans and bottles his way, saying things like “I was in Harvey Leonards the other day and I saw this and thought of you” – almost drenched in the stuff he is… and permanently inebriated.

So, I like old things… and especially pottery.

Now, I was once at a dinner party, glass of the old stuff that cheers in hand, swaying slightly, and conversing with a chum, when another chum bounded over and said “What ho, TCG! Oooooh, I say old bean, I have a gift for you” and off he scurried. He returned moments later clutching a plastic bag which he handed over to me. What could it be? It was like Christmas! Excitedly, I opened the bag…

What it was was a half a muddy brick. A perfectly normal 19th century house brick, broken in half, and still damp. They thought it might be old and presumed I’d want it.

Well, I mean to say, of course one doesn’t look a gift thing in the old whatsit, but… well… You know. And this sort of thing happens surprisingly – worryingly – often. So you can appreciate then why the words “I’ve got something for you” can sometimes sound a note of concern.

Don’t get me wrong, I very much appreciate the thought, it’s kind and most welcome. Honestly, little packages clinking with pottery fill me with a warm fuzzy feeling, and truthfully I’m never happier than when I’m rifling through shopping bags of finds, furtively handed to me in the park, looking shiftily around, like some sort of Soviet-era spy game. Indeed, being able to answer people’s questions of ‘what is it?‘, ‘how old is it?’, and the often asked ‘what’s wrong with you?‘ is the reason I write this website… and why all seven of you read it.

But for the record I also like beer and music. And money… a shiny shilling or two wouldn’t go amiss, either. And did I mention the stuff that cheers? I like that a lot!

Other times, however, gifts clasped tightly in hands can be amazing. I have had some genuinely wonderful, alarmingly, breathtakingly beautiful, and truly interesting things given to me to look at: pottery, bricks, flint… spoons!

And so it was the other day that I was skilfully tracked down by the always wonderful S.T. who thrust at me a cardboard box, tattered at the edges, and yet so full of promise (the box that is, not S.T… good old S.T. looked radiant as ever).

And that is the start of this episode. The objects contained within – on loan in a distinctly non-permanent way – were all found in the fill of an old mill pond, the exact whereabout of which are shrouded in mystery (but which I’ll happily disclose for the price of a glass of something nice… I never said I had scruples, nor that I wasn’t cheaply bought).

So come, let’s explore the box together.

The box itself is interesting – an armorial device with the initials DSC and a motif of crossed razors… a quick Google search tells me the Dollar Shave Club. Now, given that I have water from the holy well at Walsingham Priory safely contained in a medical urine sample pot, it’s not my place to pass comment. The box is, however, different from their normal home, which is apparently an old clock. Mind you, this is the same S.T. who uses an egg as a scale in her photographs… so nothing should surprise us.

So what was in the box o’ bits? First up, a clay pipe stem.

Plain apart from the words “UNION” and “PIPE” stamped on the sides. I browsed my sources for information about this, but came up with nothing, alas. It is probably an example of a political pipe, that is those that carried slogans and allusions to important political ideas and events of the day. No doubt this one was connected with the idea the Northern Irish union with the United Kingdom. The Unionists demanded to remain part of the UK in the face of an increasingly independent Republic of Ireland, which itself was demanding that Ulster be a part of it. It’s an interesting history, and one that obviously resonates still to this day. Given that a lot of clay pipes were aimed at a target market of Irish immigrant workers in Britain, it’s unsurprising that many of them contained words and phrases that reflected politics back home. Indeed, such was the market that many clay pipe manufacturers even gave their address as Dublin on the pipe bowl, despite being made in Birmingham or similar. It also plays on the belief held at the time that somehow Irish clay pipes were superior in quality.

The mouth piece is interesting, and shows the manufacturing process clearly. Formed in a two-part mould, the pipe often has mould lines along it length that can be quite thick and sharp, especially if the mould is old and worn and doesn’t close properly. The answer is to pare away the flashing with a knife, which you can see happened here.

I think I can make out some tooth marks on the mouth piece. The dark staining is the result of it lying next to something metal and rusty.

Date wise, the shape (straight, and quite chunky) would put it sometime in the early 20th century – let’s say 1910? It looks similar to the shape of the McLardy pipe here, and it would also fit with the political message.

Next up… a boot!

The detail of this thing is amazing; it’s old – probably Victorian in style – and one of those boots with an elasticated side (I actually have a pair, and very dapper I look in them too). It’s made from pewter or similar – lead-based, certainly. I have no idea what it actually is, but it’s possibly some sort of charm – if you look closely at the front you can see the remains of a small ring which would have been used to hang it from something… a pocket watch perhaps. Or, it might have been a pin cushion, with a material filling the hollow allowing pins to be pushed in.

However, whilst looking closely at it, I noticed something.

These photographs are shocking, even by my standards. I have a new phone with a camera that is truly disappointing – it doesn’t even have a macro setting. I’m not necessarily blaming the phone – my photos have always been bad – it’s just that it doesn’t help.

You can just make out a pair of tiny mice, one on each side, crawling up the boot.

The Mouse in detail – you can make out the tail and back leg. Also, you can the attention to detail in the boot – the heel is worn.

A mouse in a boot or shoe was a common theme in the Victorian period apparently, and the Northampton Museums website seems to provide an answer why:

“Shoes can be thrown at weddings to wish the couple a good, long and useful life. The shoe was also a sign of fertility and many years ago a boot was often buried in the home of the newly wed couple. Inside the boot was placed a grain of corn, which it hoped would attract mice to nest and breed. From this came the idea that the wife would bear lots of children, who would look after her and her husband. Many Victorian miniature shoes show a mouse playing in the shoe.“

So there we go – vermin in your footwear can lead to many children. Who knew?

Next we have some toys, and to start with, a wonderful hollow cast tin soldier.

The large bearskin hat suggests he is a guardsman of the Grenadier or Coldstream Guards of the British Army.

Remarkably, he still has his head, which is normally missing from found soldiers. The paint is in good condition, to0 – blue trousers and a red tunic. To make these Victorian to early 20th century figures, a mould is made into which a molten tin alloy is poured. This cools immediately on contact with the exterior, and which allows the still molten interior to be poured out, thus saving on tin. They were hand painted, probably using some very nasty heavy metal based paint – so don’t chew any you happen to find.

When new, he would have originally looked something like this:

This example is certainly better than the one I found… very jealous!

Next up we have… well, let’s not beat around the bush. We have nightmare fuel. The kind of thing that haunts my dreams.

I’m not fond of dolls, they honestly give me the creeps. But I think it is quite common for humans to be unnerved by things that look quite like us, but which aren’t us; the ‘Uncanny Valley‘ is the term for such feelings. It’s not an outright phobia, more a dislike or a sense of unease. Although I have to say, I do like the expression it has – a sort of open-mouthed surprised look… not unlike my own expression when I unwrapped this wonderful, if creepy, item. So then, here we have an remarkably complete Victorian bisque – or unglazed porcelain – doll. It’s tiny, and only the body remains – the arms and legs would have been a material, or perhaps porcelain with a single rivet joining them so that they were movable. The whole would have been clothed, or wrapped in a blanket, but this has long since rotted. The incredible detail in the colouring of the eyes, hair, and face would indicate that it was a relatively expensive one, and it would have looked something like this when ‘alive’.

Stolen, with my usual lack of shame, from this website.

On the back is impressed the word ‘Germany’, which is where the doll was made, Germany being world renowned as the centre of doll manufacturing. There is also the number ’61’ just visible on the left shoulder, which is presumably the mould number.

A ‘raking light’ shows the impressed maker’s mark.

Sadly I can’t find any more information about this doll in particular, but at one point this was a prized toy belonging to a little girl, and at some stage the doll was lost or thrown away. A melancholy thought.

Next up is… yep, more nightmares made solid! Thanks for this, ST.

Another bisque doll, and whilst it is complete, it’s just the head and shoulders, which would have been sown into a cloth body. It would have been sold very cheaply as there is no painted features, but would nonetheless have been a much loved toy. You can see how it was made – cast in a mould, and hollow:

You can see the marks of the liquid porcelain as it was poured into the mould.

Creepy, but a wonderful

Whenever I find toys or marbles, I always feel slightly sad that they were lost or discarded. I don’t like the idea that somehow the things that matter to us as children shouldn’t matter to us as adults, and that there should be a clear and clean break with our childhood. Luckily though, I’m the adult now, and I get to decide what being ‘an adult‘ means… hence I have display cabinets filled with Star Wars and Action Force toys – and Airfix toy soldiers – from the 1980’s in our spare room. My childish things are very much still with me… but I digress. Again

After those last two I need a snifter of something that cheers.

Well, we started with a pipe, so let’s end with a pipe. Truly, I would love to smoke one. There is something wonderful about a pipe, something calming; the chap who takes charge in a crisis smokes a pipe. As does the dashing hero, or the bookish academic, or the romantic lead. Sadly, it’s that damned cancer that puts me off (that, and Mrs CG threatening divorce).

So here we have here a fairly standard, but always welcome, Late Victorian clay pipe.

In very good condition, and missing only the mouthpiece.

I actually have a whole article on clay pipes almost written, so I won’t go into too much detail here, but it’s the shape and size that tells us the date (briefly, if it has a bulbous bowl and slanted rim, it’s Georgian or earlier. But if it has an upright bowl and horizontal rim, then it’s Victorian. Also, a smaller bowl is earlier, whilst a larger bowl indicates it is later.

There is some lovely, if very common decoration on this pipe:

The rouletting around the rim is very typical of the type, as is the stitching on the front and back, which hides the flashing caused by the joining of the two sides of the mould. There is no maker’s mark, not even a ‘Made in Dublin’, or similar Irish theme, alas. And as I say, certainly not uncommon, but always great to find one in good condition.

And with that final pipe extinguished, the journey is over: the ‘box o’ bits’ has been explored, and we may all go back to whatever it was we were doing before I interrupted. My sincere thanks to ST for allowing me to share this with all seven of you, and for following and supporting me for so long here at the Cabinet of Curiosities.

In other news, I’m currently putting together the next edition of Where/When – this one covers a walk from the Bull’s Head in Old Glossop to The Beehive in Whitfield along ancient trackways, and taking in some interesting archaeology. As usual, you will be able to buy a physical copy, as well as download a digital version. I’m also going to do it as a guided walk, so you’ll get a chance to Wander the route with me – which may or may not be a bonus, depending on how much you like pottery! Watch this space.

Talking of which, more pottery next time. But until then, look after yourselves and each other.

And I remain, your humble servant.

TCG

History · Nothing in particular! · Stones of Glossop

A House, A Hive, and a Trueman

January 28, 2024February 2, 2024 Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

(Will I make it before January 31st?.. that is the question)

What ho, wonderful people, what ho!

And my how I have missed you all. Well, most of you at least. Not you Mr Shouty-Outy, nope. But surprisingly today’s offering is pottery free, so you have no need to say anything at all.

So then, Christmas is over, and the New Year’s hoohah is done with… alas. Invariably at this time of year, a certain sombreness overtakes old TCG. Gone is the ‘devil may care’ attitude of yore, and instead a certain ‘not even the devil cares’ feeling overtakes one’s bean. There is a noticeable drooping of one’s shoulders, a subtle sadness of the ‘O the pain of life‘ variety, and a distinct lack in the old J de V. A funk, if you will, the like of which even the stuff that cheers – if taken in the correct dose – fails to cheer. Not that it stops one from trying, obviously.

And so, trying to raise my spirits, I found myself idly flicking through the wonderful History In a Pint Pot by David Field, which is a detailed history of all of Glossop’s pubs, past and present. Highly recommended, but sadly long out of print, athough the library has a copy if you want a read… and you should. I was looking at my local, The Beehive, when at the back of that particular entry was an old advert dated to sometime in the Victorian period that looked vaguely familiar.

Beers, wines, spirits, cigars, horses, stone… there’s not a lot that can’t be bought at the Beehive.

*Ping* went a synapse… a second passed… then *thunk* went a receptor (I may have slightly overdone the festivities this year, and the old noodle is functioning at approximately half normal speed). Where had I seen it before? And why was the advert significant? What? Where? When? And then it hit me… St Mary’s Road. Oh yes… something I should have blogged about before now.

Sooooo… a few years ago someone messaged me via, I think, Twitter, and asked if I had seen the name carved into the the gutter of some houses at the top of St Mary’s Road, and did I have any information.

Before we go any further, confession time. I am, as you might have realised, quite good at some things (*cough* pottery *cough*) and terrible at others (*cough* communication *cough*). I am also fairly disorganised in some areas (*cou… YES, alright, we get the picture… here, have a throat sweet). So it should come as no surprise to anyone that I cannot for the life of me recall who it was, nor can I seem to track down any record of the conversation. So if it was you, then please accept my humble apologies, and step forward to make yourself known and famous to all 7 of the people who read these posts (including Juan in Venezuela).

So then, had I seen them? No. And had I any information? Also no. And so it was I found myself walking down St Mary’s Road, muttering to myself as I am wont to do.

No’s 116 to 122 make a small terrace of four stone-built houses, typically mid-late Victorian in shape, and are much like all the others around them.

The corner of Duke Street and St Mary’s Road.

They don’t appear on the 1880 1:500 OS Town Plan

The lack of houses is circled in red, with St Mary’s running broadly NW-SE. Map stolen, as usual, without shame, from the enormously useful and always fascinating National Library of Scotland OS map database. Check it out here.

But they do appear on the 1898 25 inches to the mile OS map:

You can really see the map filling up, and a real sense that Glossop is still filling out to its Victorian and early 20th century maximum. Map stolen as per above!

Which gives us a date of between 1880 and 1898 for their construction.

So about the name, then. It took me a moment or two to see them, but at the end of each of the corbels that hold up the guttering, you can see a letter or character.

Apologies for the darkness of these photographs… I didn’t realise quite how murky they were until they

Wow! I love this, and I cursed myself for not noticing them before – serves me right for always having both eyes on the floor! It is difficult to photograph these without a telephoto lens, but also without attracting the ire of householders, who oddly don’t like it when you stand around taking photos of their houses, usually muttering threats of ‘setting the dogs on you’; people are strange. Anyway, the best I could do is the following stream of photographs; apologies in advance!

So then, what do we have?

J O H N + T R U E M A N 0

Nice! A mystery. There is very little relevant online, but there was a reference to a John Trueman as the publican of the Beehive Inn in Whitfield, which was worth following up, and hence the History in a Pint Pot advert. The connection is not immediately obvious, but the fact that Trueman was mentioned as both wine and spirit merchant, and a stone dealer in the advert suggests that he built the houses, and probably using his own stone. It seems that the position of publican of The Beehive (or ‘Bee Hive’, as it was then) came with the rights to the quarries at the end of the track beside the pub, next to Fieldhead Farm there.

The Beehive is arrowed in red, but you can see the track leading to the quarries at the end.

William Miller, the landlord in 1857, is also described as a stone dealer. Our man John Trueman was landlord here between 1871 and 1894, which is also spot on for the date of the houses. I like the idea of him wheeling and dealing, serving pints and stone in equal measure. And if you build houses, then why not go ahead and sign them, particularly in a rather cool way. There seemed to be a lot of that around at the time, and as I was walking away from St Mary’s, I remembered another named building that I’d like to take a look at – Norfolk Buildings on Victoria Street:

According to Robert Hamnett, The Surrey Arms and the three adjacent houses in the terrace were built in 1846 by James Robinson, who owned a large number of houses (and presumably having built them, too). You can see the uniform design and decoration of these three, especially in comparison with those buildings to the left, which are smaller and built to a different design. You can also see the ‘join’ between the two groups. It seems that these houses were constructed later that Norfolk Buildings, and presumably by a different person – again evidence of the piecemeal process that characterised Glossop’s Victorian building boom. The name/datestone is above the centre of the three houses:

I wonder if ‘*archaeologist*‘ would hold up in court as a defence against being accused of being a ‘peeping tom’. An academic question, obviously… purely theoretical.

‘J.R. NORFOLK BUILDINGS 1847’

The ‘J.R.’ is presumably James Robinson, and the buildings named after the Duke of Norfolk, whose investment in the town was arguably at it’s greatest in the mid-19th century. The date speaks for itself, though Hamnett notes that the lease for the pub dates from 28th March 1846, so this might be a lease connected with the land itself, or perhaps the proposed pub.

So there it is, this month’s offering… and I made it in January! There are so many Victorian datestones in the Glossop area, many recording details beyond just a date, and we find house names, builder’s names, area names, and the like. I’d like to do another survey of datestones or name plaques for the Victorian period, to accompany the one I did (and is still ongoing) for the pre-Victorian period. Or, you know, convince one of you to do it and publish it on the website (if you fancy the challenge, give me a message). Anyway, more again very soon.

In other news, the first issue of Where/When is back in stock. So, if you fancy a guided Wander from the Friendship Inn to The Oakwood, via Ashes, Dinting, Adderley Place, Pikes Lane and Harehills, and through the prehistoric, Roman, and medieval periods, then this is the publication for you… especially if you like what you read here!

You can download a free copy here, but there’s nowt like a physical paper copy: £5 from Dark Peak Books, on High Street West on Glossop (and I might be the one to serve you!), or you could just ask me, and I’ll bung one to you. For those that have been asking, Issue 2 is on the way… and honestly a fantastic one it’s going to be.

I’ve also got a few actual different Wanders planned, real actual physical walks led by yours truly, up hill and down dale, and through our amazing shared historical landscape. You can even throw stones at me when I start to bore you about pottery… and no, that doesn’t mean you can sign up for it just to lob rocks at me, Mr Shouty-Outy. Anyway, watch this space as I’ll advertise it her, and elsewhere.

So that’s about it for now. Hopefully I’ll get a couple written for February – I have so many half-finished articles it’s ridiculous, and I just need to get on with it (lots of pottery goodness!). But until then, look after yourselves and each other, and I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG

Domesday Book · History · Medieval · Placenames

Glossop: Places and Dates.

September 6, 2023September 6, 2023 Tim Campbell-Green1 Comment

What ho, you wonderful people, you!

I’ll not beat about the bush, let’s get straight to business! Over the past few months, when I had time, I spent some entertaining hours poring over any and all parish and other records relating to Glossop. Not just that, but estate records, royal tax records, and wills too… anything with a place and a date, essentially. I have been trying to establish the first mention of the farms and places that make up what we know as Glossop in order to get a feel for the place in the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries. Why yes, yes I am that interesting.

Parish records were first introduced by law on 5th September 1538. From that point on the details of any event that took place within the church had to be recorded, and thus anyone baptised, married, or buried (hatched, matched, or despatched) were entered into a ledger (here is a good introduction to the subject). The details depended on the event, but it usually included a name, a date, and, crucially for us, a place: e.g. 14th June 1620, Jonah Wagstaffe, son of Charles and Elizabeth of Glossop, was buried.

What follows is an alphabetised list of the locations mentioned in the parish records for Glossop All Saints parish church in Old Glossop. I primarily used the North West Derbyshire Sources site, run by the seemingly unstoppable Marjorie Ward. The website is an absolute goldmine of data for this area, so please do check it out. Also, all credit, and huge thanks, goes to the people who originally transcribed the parish records; it wasn’t me, and all I did was read them and extract some information – I merely stood on the shoulders of giants, to quote Newton (and others).

Glossop’s records don’t go back as far as 1538, sadly, but instead start in 1620. Why this should be is unclear, but it is not the only example from around the country; opposition to the process, a lack of direction, and simple laziness may all have played a part. Because of this, I also looked at any other forms of official records I could find – tax records, wills, land deeds, and what not, to see if I could push some dates back further. I will be adding to these data in future, especially as I come across earlier references to places, so think of this as a work in progress. I have used the modern spelling for the places, but have made a note of different spellings when they appear. Until relatively recently, there was no standardised spelling of words, and placenames in particular were spelled how they sounded, often reflecting the accent of the people, as is the case here (see Coombes and The Heath for good examples of a local accent preserved in the records).

Note that this is simply the first mention of these places, not the date they were founded. This may seem obvious, but it is important to state that many of these places will have been settled for hundreds of years prior to their mention in the Parish Records. This is underlined by looking at how many of the entries have a date of within 20 years of the 1620 commencement of the parish records – it is clear that they didn’t all just pop into existence at that point, and that the first mention of them here is just that. A big boom in the settlement of the area would have commenced in the 1530’s after Glossodale was taken from Basingwerke Abbey and given to the Talbot family – it would be in their interests to get as many rent paying farmers on the land as possible. That stated, the abbey was pretty good at making money and would certainly have encouraged the foundation of farmsteads, thus we can perhaps characterise the period following the relaxation of the forest laws as one of continual expansion.

A note on the sources: PR – Parish Records. Domesday Book – is fairly self explanatory. 1381 Poll Tax – information taken from the book ‘The Poll Taxes of 1377, 1379, and 1381’ by Carolyn Fennick (Glossop only features in the 1381 Poll Tax, oddly). Wills – from the North West Derbyshire Resources website. Kirk – papers of the Kirk family of Glossop and Chapel-en-le-Frith. Datestone – the datestone on the house. EPNS – any of the numerous records used in ‘The Place-Names of Derbyshire Vol. 1’ published by the EPNS. EPNS – Ch – is ‘The Place-Names of Cheshire Vol.1‘. Derbyshire Subsidy Roll 1327-8 (DAJ) – Another poll tax, published in the Derbyshire Archaeological Journal of 1908 (read it here, if you like). Roll of Fines – a list of people fined for offences against the forest, and dated to the 13^th year of Edward I (1285), you can read it here (it’s the same source as the Forest Rolls (EPNS), but I have mined some more information that the EPNS left out). Shrewsbury Papers – the public record office collection of the Earls of Shrewsbury’s papers (the Talbot family archive, essentially) – here.

Place	Date	Person Named	Notes & Alternate Spellings	Source
Almans Heath	1650 (22/7)	Burial of Elizabeth Timplie, widow	“Almens Heath”	PR
Ashes	1674 (12/11)	Marriage of William Newton & Mary Newton		PR
Bank	1668		Bank Farm on ‘The Bonk’	Unpublished Ryland’s Charters (EPNS)
Bankwood	1717		Hadfield. “The Bankwood” (Gate) (Bankswood)	Rylands Charters (EPNS)
Bettenhill	1637 (24/3)	Burial of Elizabeth Robinson, wife of Robert	“Betterside Hill” “Betterside the Hill” “Bettinside Hill”	PR
Blackshaw	1600	Will of Ottiwell Beard of Kynder (John Dande of Blackshaw is witness)		Wills. Also the burial of Anna Dande, wife of John 1621 (PR)
Bridgend	1598	Will of William Barber of The Heath (Robert Bramhall of Bridgend is witness)	“Bridgent”	Wills. Also, Burial of Ann Brammall 1654 (PR)
Brown Hill	1285		“Brunhill”	Forest Rolls (EPNS). I’m not convinced, to be honest – Brownhill is a common name, & the physical evidence does not support 1285. Reference to “Sarah Hollinworth alias Brownehill” in 1624 might be this place.
Castle Hill	1692 (2/2)	Burial of Edward Hadfield (snr)		PR
Charlesworth	1086		“Cheuenwrde”	Domesday Book
Chunal	1086		“Ceolhal”	Domesday Book
Cold Harbour	1627 (23/5)	Marriage of Otwell Clayton & Margaret Downes		PR
Coombes	1285		“Chiselwrthecumbes” (1285), “Cowmbes”	Forest Rolls (EPNS). Also baptism of Anna Bridge, daughter of John 1644 (PR)
Coombes Edge	1700	Burial of Elizabeth Booth	“Colmes Edge” Same as Cown Edge below?	PR
Cow Brook	1643 (24/3)	Baptism of Joshua Dewsnap		PR
Cown Edge?	1702	Baptism of Sarah Booth	“Cold Edge” “Coln Edge”	PR
Crosscliffe	1555	Edmund Bower of Whitfield		Lease in DRO (D5236/5/27) Also 1608 Calendar Rolls (EPNS)
Deep Clough	1285		“Depecloxe” “Dupecloh”	Forest Rolls (EPNS). Also baptism of Nicholas Brammall 1620 (PR)
Dinting	1086		“Dentinc” (1086), “Dintinge”	Domesday Book.
Fieldhead	1804	Will of George Roberts (mentioned land at ‘Field Heads’ – presumably the same)	The position of Fieldhead Farm is literally that, at the head of the ploughed selions, now simply fields.	Wills. Also will of Jacob Hollingworth 1845
Gamesley	1285		“Gameleslegh”	Forest Rolls (EPNS). Also Tax of Jurdan de Gamesley Derbyshire Subsidy Roll 1327-8 (DAJ)
Glossop	1086			Domesday Book
Hadfield	1086			Domesday Book
Hargate Hill	1623 (10/7)	Burial of Widow Robinson	“Hargatt Hill” “Hargett Hill” “Hardgate Hill (1654)” “Hardgate” might refer to a ‘Hard Road’, i.e. not muddy track. Roman? The road does pass by here.	PR
Heath	1285	John del Heath	Also as “Teathe” (3/11/1658) (PR)	Roll of Fines. Also Robert del Heth, Derbyshire Subsidy Roll 1327-8 (DAJ)
Herod Farm	1703			Datestone
Hilltop	1679 (27/7)	Burial of John Hadfield	Caution… there is also a Hill Top in Chisworth (EPNS).	PR
Hobroyd	1327	Wills de Holberode	“Hob Road” “Hobrod” – road rather than royd?	Derbyshire Subsidy Roll 1327-8 (DAJ)
Hollinworth Head	1546		Hollingworth Head Farm	Unpublished documents in the Middleton Collection (EPNS). Also burial of Emmot Taylor, wife of Ralph 1623 (PR)
Hurst	1550		“Whitfield Hurst”	Feet of Fines (EPNS). Also baptism of Robert Hagh in 1621 (PR)
Hurstnook Farm	1772			Datestone
Jumble	1640 (1/4)	Burial of Grace Turner, wife of Reginald	“Jomble”	PR
Lamyclough	1629 (8/12)	Burial of William Newton, son of Hugo	“Lammanclough” & “Lammeclough” – Charlesworth way	PR
Lane Ends	1623 (14/12)	Burial of John Robinson	Whitfield	PR
Laneside	1625 (14/9)	Burial of John Bramall		PR
Lee Head	1706 (12/1)	Burial of Thomas Harrison	Charlesworth	PR
Lees Hall	1285	Jo. de Legh (of Whitfield) (John de Legh)		Also Ricardus del Lees 1381 Poll Tax
Little Padfield	1711 (5/1)	Baptism of Elizabeth Creswick		PR
Long Lane	1696 (24/6)	Burial of ‘Old Widow’ Boedon	Charlesworth	PR
Long Lee	1621 (17/9)	Burial of George Hyde		PR
Mill Town	1643 (27/6)	Burial of Margaret Mellor, wife of Ralph		PR
Monk’s Road	1290		“le Cauce” (The Causeway)	Calendar of Charter Rolls (EPNS)
Moorside	1616	Will of Thomas Hollingworth of Moorside.	This may be Moorside in Chisworth, confusingly.	Wills. Also burial of Widow Hollinworth 1623 (PR)
Moregate	1655 (2/4)	Baptism of Helena Hadfield	Hadfield	PR
Mossy Lea	1623 (5/1)	Burial of Ellina Hollinworth	“Mosseley” & “Moselee”	PR
Mouselow	1628 (16/11)	Baptism of William Newton		PR
Over Deep Clough	1709 (19/1)	Burial of Henry Hadfield		PR
Padfield	1086		Padefeld	Domesday Book
Pike’s Farm	1780			Datestone
Priest’s Pastures	1616	Petition to the King by a “Nicholas Hatfielde”	“Prist Pasters” – Padfield somewhere.	Shrewsbury Papers, Folio 147 (no date, but the recipient, Gilbert, died in 1616, so before then). Also 1640 (20/2) – Baptism of Anna Hadfield (PR)
Pyegrove	1631 (15/1)	Burial of Anna Booth, daughter of Ralph & Anna	“Pigreave” “Pyegreave”	PR
Reaps Farm	1631	Burial of William Hadfield, son of William & Helen	“Reape”	PR
Ringstones	1623 (13/5)	Baptism of Thomas Roobotham		PR
Rowarth	1285	Roger le Ragged de Roworth	“Rouworth”	Roll of Fines. Also Burial of Elizabeth Goddard, wife of Robert 1626 (PR)
Shaw	1285	Mathew del Shawe		Roll of Fines. Also Henricus del Schawe 1381 Poll Tax
Shelf	1285		Possible location of Monastic Grange?	Forest Rolls (EPNS).
Shire Hill	1285		“Shyrhull”	Forest Rolls (EPNS).
Simmondley	1285	Alward de Symondesly	“Symondlee”	Roll of Fines. Also Burial of Joanna Beelee, w. of William 1620 (PR)
Spire Hollin	1700	“Spire Hollin estates” mentioned for sale in D513/M/E/374 with others.		Kirk Estate Papers #374. Also 1734 Poll of Derbyshire (EPNS)
Storth	1578	Harry Booth of Storth Farm, Simmondley	He had dispute with Lord Talbot & went to London to see Queen Elizabeth I.	Historical record. Also Baptism of Joseph Botham, son of Henry & Mary, 1638 (PR)
Top of the Hill	1698 (17/6)	Baptism of Robert Wagstaffe	By Redgates	PR
Torside	1621 (16/7)	Baptism of Alycia Hadfield	“Thorsett”	PR
Waterside	1710 (19/5)	Burial of Ann Alsoppe	Hadfield	PR
Whitfield	1086		“Witfeld”	Domesday Book
Whitfield Barn	1657			Datestone
Whitfield Hough	1690	Robert Dewsnop of Whitfield Hough		Title deed in Dro (D6368/1)
Windy Harbour	1683 (11/12)	Burial of Thomas Harison	“Winde Harbar”	PR
Woodcock Road	1249		“Wodecokessich” (1249) “Wood Cockrode”, “Cockroode”, & “Cock-Crowd”	Calendar of Inquisitions Miscellaneous (EPNS). Also baptism of Joseph Bramall 1628 (PR)
Woodhead	1424			Cholmondley Deeds (EPNS – Ch). Also baptism of Anna Bostocke 1629 (PR)
Woodshead	1654 (13/9)	Baptism of Elizabeth Heawart	“Woodsheds” in Charlesworth	PR
Wooley (Bridge)	1286			Court Rolls (EPNS – Ch)

And there we have it. Obviously buildings within these areas will have separate dates, but overall we can begin to picture Glossop as it was in the medieval and post medieval period.

Visually then, it looks like this:

This is the situation at Domesday – 1086 – with all the names villages marked in red.

By 1285, Glossop looked like this:

The monks of Basingwerk have it, renting it to the Talbot family who are encouraging people to farm, making money for themselves in rent and produce.

By 1450, very little has changed:

Following the Dissolution of the Monasteries from 1538 onwards, the land becomes the sole property of the Talbots who continue to encourage the founding of farms. Here is the situation by 1620:

100 years later, the land is full of smaller farms, all paying rent to the landords, now the Howard family. The explosion in farms may be connected to the Howards drawing up longer rental leases, allowing people to invest in buildings and land not just for themselves, but for their children and grandchildren. Here is the situation in 1720:

Obviously, this is a very broad study – I just want to get the information out there. There is an awful lot more that could be done here, not least of which could be some form of more formal survey of the land deeds. It should also be pointed out that many farms will have disappeared over time, forgotten about or subsumed by larger farms, and what we have here is not a 100% accurate reflection of Glossop, merely a snapshot.

More research is needed indeed… but for now, I’m going to have a snifter of the stuff that cheers.

Right-ho, that’s your lot for this time. Next time I promise more pottery… I know how much you’ve missed it. Until then, take care of yourselves and each other.

And I remain, your humble servant.

TCG

History · Placenames · Simmondley

The One Glossop… and the Many Glossops

June 10, 2023June 10, 2023 Tim Campbell-Green3 Comments

What ho, wonderful folk! Summer is almost upon us, and we enter the finest time of year. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m fond of spring, and autumn is good. Even winter with it’s cold and dark can be lightened and warmed with a good fire and a glass of the stuff that cheers (if taken in the right dosage, as I am often reminded by the good Mrs C-G). But no, ask old TC-G which season he likes most, and the answer will always be… summer. This time of year fills me with a particular joy; it puts a spring in my step, a smile on the old fizzog, and a stirring in the loins (although that’s possibly the onion soup I had for lunch). Summer is indeed ‘icumen in’.

And indeed, it’s the stuff that cheers that leads us to today’s blog post – something a bit different, but fret not dear and gentle readers, for when have I ever steered you wrong?

I wonder then have you ever found yourself, glass in hand and perhaps swaying slightly, in a place to which you never set out to journey? I certainly have (and no, not that Turkish bordello… for the last time, I was only in there to ask for directions to the post office). No, a chance encounter with a place, perhaps exotic, otherworldy, strange and alien, like no other place on earth, and yet familiar? A few months ago I found myself, quite by accident, in The Globe pub quiz (and good evening JS!). It was a difficult quiz, and involved much mashing of the old B, and a distinct straining of the dashed M… if you catch one’s meaning.

But one question in particular flummoxed me: “How many Glossops are there?”.

I mean, there’s an existential crisis… what? Why surely there is only one? The singular, unique, one-of-a-kind place that we call home. This royal throne of kings, this scepter’d isle. This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, this other Eden, demi-paradise. This fortress built by Nature for herself against infection and the hand of war. This blessed plot, this earth, this realm. This Glossop. (ok, I might have had a bit of help with the words there… my thanks to William what’s-his-face).

But no… apparently there are three. Who knew? Well, the quizmaster did. And several of the other teams did, apparently. But I bloody well didn’t. Not that I’m bitter or anything. And besides, none of the other teams could answer any of the questions in the ‘Pottery Identification’ round (alas, if only such a wondrous beast existed… one can but dream).

So then, two other Glossops… blimey, there’s a thought. What wonders could these places offer us, what unearthly delights akin to the Globe quiz? Well, dear and gentle reader, let’s find out.

Introducing Glossop Number 2

Where the red pin is, lies another Glossop, on the other side of the world.

Glossop, South Australia. A town roughly 250 miles north east of Adelaide (and just a mile or so north of the splendidly named township of ‘Winkie’). It’s a small place, with a population in 2016 of just 984 (compared with our Glossop’s 33,340 in 2021), mainly rural, and surrounded on all sides by vineyards – it’s right in the wine growing region, lucky people! (and presumably then the weather would be a tad warmer than that found in our corner of North Derbyshire!).

It was founded in 1921 as a settlement for returning soldiers, and is named after the equally splendidly named Vice Admiral John Collings Taswell Glossop (if anyone knows their Jeeves and Wooster, this could be Tuppy Glossop’s uncle). Vice Admiral Glossop was in command of HMAS Australia during the First World War, and was very active in the Royal Navy’s Australian wing.

A little different from High Street West, this is Campbell Street, Glossop.

There looks to be some great camping and hiking to be done in the area, and there are several national parks based around the Murray River there. That stated, there’s not a lot more to say about the place, to be honest, but do feel free to have an explore on the internet, or in real life (oooooh, a tour of the wine country could be fun!). If you live in Glossop, Australia, and have stumbled upon this site, then please let yourself be known – we’d love to hear from you.

But wait, there’s more!

In New South Wales, Australia, there is a Glossop Reservoir. Situated near to the village of Linden, 40 miles NW of Sydney, it’s located at the end of Glossop Road, and absolutely smack dab in the middle of nowhere.

Glossop reservoir is the round thing at the end of Glossop Road.

I wonder why they have the name Glossop? Perhaps also connected to our man Vice Admiral Glossop? There is no more information I can find out about this place at all, so any information you have would be gratefully received.

And now for Glossop Number 3.

Will this Glossop be a throbbing metropolis? A mecca of marvelousness? A seething mass of humanity? A place of culture and wonder, or a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah? Well, not exactly…

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Glossop, Manitoba, Canada.

Well, what can we say about Glossop, Manitoba.

Well, no matter how you feel about Glossop, Derbyshire, it has something going for it. And as small as Glossop, South Australia, is, it has life… in that people actually live there. Glossop, Manitoba is… well… a road, next to a rail track. With some grain elevators on it.

There must be something nearby… surely. Let’s look down the road:

Nope, nothing this way, let’s look behind us…

What we can say is that it is situated 604m (1982ft) above sea level, is on the trans-Canadian Yellowhead highway, and is broadly equidistant between the settlements of Newdale and Strathclair… both of which seem to be quite nice, if on the small size (population “perhaps 200” and 709 respectively). What we can’t say, however, is why this place has the name Glossop, although presumably it’s named after someone with that surname.

However, a little more digging and… it turns out the grain silos are interesting.

Copyright Steve Boyko, and borrowed from this website.

Well… ok, let’s be honest for a moment, anyone who has ever read anything on this website knows that the word ‘interesting’ is very flexible (and honestly, we have stretched that word to the limit on this site), and I’m painfully aware that my particular niche interest doesn’t ring everyone’s bell. But even by our own relaxed standards, these grain elevators aren’t exactly riveting. However, this is exactly the sort of thing the internet was invented for – people with niche and minority interests meeting each other and sharing information – after all I’m here writing this, and all six of you (including Pablo in Puerto Rico… hola Pablo!) are out there reading it. The website ‘Grain Elevators of Canada’ has a whole page dedicated to those at Glossop, Manitoba, but I’m not going to steal their thunder, instead please do go and have a look at it.

But wait, there’s more…

Some 350 miles north east of Glossop, Manitoba, is Glossop Lake.

Even by Canadian standards, this place is in the middle of nowhere: 40 miles NE of the nearest settlement (Pikwitonei, population 55), and 150 miles east of Thompson, the ‘capital’ of northern Manitoba (population “fewer than 15,000”). You could only get to this place by hiking for several days, or possibly by boat. It is truly remote.

Which makes it particularly baffling that the only information about Glossop Lake available on the internet are from a Wikipedia page written in Cebuano, a language spoken almost exclusively in the Southern Phillipines… and with no obvious connection with an obscure lake in the frozen north of the Canadian wilds! Bizarre!

So what can we say about Lake Glossop. Well, it’s a shallow lake, situated 200m above sea level, and covers an area of 1.35km2. It is mostly pine covered, and the average temperature for the area is -5… so you’ll probably not want to go skinny dipping any time soon. There is neither a photograph, nor an explanation as to why it is called Glossop Lake, though presumably again named after a person.

So there we have it – the many Glossops of the world. I’d like to do a roadtrip to find these places, but honestly… that seems like a lot of hard work for very little reward! However, if anyone is going to any of the places mentioned, please let me know.

And whilst this post is not overtly archaeological, it does have some relevance. Gamesley, Simmondley, and even Glossop itself are all named after people, and all were imposed on the landscape by Anglo-Saxon settlers. What the native British (the ‘Celtic’ Romano British) called the area, if it had one, is lost to us (Dinting being the exception). This habit of naming after people or features in your own language can also be very helpful in identifying settlement patterns, ages, and the origins of the people doing the naming. And here it does get interesting. Simmondley means “the clearing” (or ley) belonging to someone called either Sigemund or Sigmundr. The former is a Saxon name, but the latter, however, is a Norse (Viking) name, and that might be important. I have a pet theory… we know that a small group of Scandinavians were allowed to settle in the hills to the east of Manchester, and there are a cluster of possible/probable Scandinavian names in the Simmondly area: sitch, storth, gate, nab, and possibly others. It makes me wonder if Simmondley’s origins are more Viking than Saxon. Just a thought, but it does illustrate the importance of names in a landscape. I’ll expand on this another time.

But for now, take care of yourselves and each other.

And I remain, your humble servant

TCG

Archaeology · History · Whitfield

Datestones

December 9, 2021September 16, 2022 Tim Campbell-Green4 Comments

(And apologies to those of you who have ended up on this website expecting to find an informative article on the seed of the Phoenix dactylifera.)

What ho, magnificent readers! I trust you are all rude health as we stumble toward the season of goodwill and whatnot. I love this time of year, when the cold wind blows, and the… What’s that? What do you mean “get on with it!”. Honestly, the nerve of some people.

Righty ho. Datestones. Who doesn’t love a good datestone? I mean, what’s not to love? A little snapshot of the history of a building, a birth certificate if you will, recording both the date of birth, and, if we’re lucky, the parents too.

Normally, though not exclusively, located above the door, these carved stones preserve the date of construction and the initials of the person or family who paid for its construction. The are by and large the reserve of the aspirational ‘middle classes’ of society; the poor man doesn’t build his house, the rich man has a house that speaks for itself. Indeed, it is a statement to others: I have wealth enough to build this house. They seem to become popular in the 17th century, as the ‘yeoman farmer’ becomes a class of person, that is, a person who owns the land they farm. Indeed, it may be a result of that phenomena, a way of setting themselves apart from the simple tenant farmer, who doesn’t own the land he works. Glossop has several 17th century examples remaining, though many more will have been lost, sadly. They do show up, occasionally, as the one found by Glossop Brook at Harehills Park did, and which was saved and cemented into the brook wall. Interestingly, this example also shows that whilst datestones can be a boon to historians, they can also present problems if we are not careful. They can move easily, and be attached to other buildings giving a misleading date, as is the case there, and at Hall Fold Farm. Also, stones can be put in place to commemorate a rebuilding or alteration to an existing building, causing similar, if opposite, problems.

By the Victorian period it was common to put a date and/or name on a house you built, and a careful look at many rows of Victorian terraces around Glossop will reveal names and dates. With that in mind, I have restricted my research to those datestones that carry a date prior to Victoria’s reign, pre-1837. The following is a table of the ones I know about:

There are 28 datestones in the Glossop area (broadly defined), but there will be more lurking that I don’t know about, either attached to the building still, or lying in a garden. This blog post will concentrate on the examples from Whitfield, as it is turning into a much larger post than I had thought. Plus, in the interests of honesty and transparency… I haven’t got photographs of all of them yet!

Whitfield has some of the oldest buildings in the Glossop area, and although not really much of a ‘place’ now – essentially just a ‘suburb’ of Glossop – it was once hugely important, being built along the Chapel en le Frith to Glossop road. It gradually lost it’s importance with the rise of the mills based down in the valley, the economy here being agricultural. Whitfield’s one-time importance means that we find many old buildings and a number of datestones here. Indeed, Whitfield has more old buildings that Old Glossop, which with its Church and market, was the focus of the farmsteads and settlements of Glossodale. However, important places tend to be subject to more intense rebuilding over time, whereas more minor areas maintain their old buildings. I was going to do a distribution map of the old buildings, but changed my mind for that reason. Still, it’s worth noting that Whitfield underwent a bit of a building boom in the mid to late 18th century.

35 Whitfield Cross was built in 1773 as a farmhouse, and is a Grade II listed building – see here for more details. The narrow coursed stonework and stone mullioned windows are typical of the period.

61 Hague Street was also built in 1773, but as a pair of weaver’s cottages, and is also a Grade II listed building. 1773 must have been busy year, and Whitfield was clearly a happening place in the late 18th century. The datestone records the initials R. J. and D. Now, presumably the ‘R’ is the surname (possibly Robinson – the family being quite prominent in Whitfield) with ‘J’ and ‘D’ being the husband and wife who are responsible for the building. I have no information regarding the people, sadly, and any information would be appreciated.

Hob Hill Cottage is a remarkable building dating to 1638, making it the second oldest building with a datestone in the Glossop area (after the Bulls Head in Old Glossop, dated 1607). Also built as a farmhouse, and also a Grade II listed building (there’s a theme developing here!), I suspect it might be the source of the lead came and glass, as well as some of the 18th century pottery, I found nearby, although truthfully any one of a number of buildings – existing or long gone – might be the source.

Another Grade II listed building now – the Old School House. Joseph Hague was something of an important man – indeed, the road on which the school (now private residences) sits is named after him. Born in Chunal in 1695, he rose from poverty to amass a fortune selling yarn to weavers and buying back the cloth they produced, to sell on. However, here is not the place for a discussion of his life, or of the school (the Glossop Heritage Trust does that very well here). Let us instead look at the wonderful inscription

“This school was erected and endowed by JOSEPH HAGUE Esquire,
of Park Hall in this Parish as a testimony of Gratitude to
ALMIGHTY GOD for his favour and Blessings through a life of
years whereby he was enabled to accumulate an ample fortune
and make a plentiful Provision for his numerous Relations and
Dependents. Anno Domini 1779.”

I enjoy the slightly boastful “ample fortune“… well, if you have it, why not? The beautiful carved relief plaque of the beehive over the main door – symbol of productivity and hard work – gave inspiration for the name of the pub over the road. The Beehive pub itself is an 18th century building, with a 19th century front added, and another example of the building boom of the 18th century in Whitfield.

Old School House, Hague Street. The beehive carved in relief, surrounded by Sunflowers, and crawling with characterful bees. I love this.

Another Grade II listed building, one of several together, and originally built as a ‘laithhouse’, that is a building made up of a house, barn and byre/shippon in one. It is a late example of the type if the date is to be taken at face value, but there you go… this corner of Derbyshire wasn’t exactly at the forefront of architectural fashion. There is also a bit of confusion regarding 62 Hague Street. As it stands now, there is a simple date of ‘1751′ above the door. However, the listing for the Grade II building notes that “No.62 originally had datestone inscribed RMS 1757” (read the full listing here). The present datestone is fairly modern, carved perhaps to replace the missing stone, but it doesn’t explain the difference in date. I thought it worth mentioning for the sake of documentation and completion.

So who was Joel Bennett? Born 11 April 1791 to son of George Bennett and Martha Cooper, he came from a large and important local family. He may have been the same Joel Bennet who was excommunicated from Littlemoor Independent Chapel in 1828 for “disorderly walking and impenitency” (source is here). I’m unsure of what is meant here by “disorderly walking”, but given the hotbed of radical religion that was Littlemoor, one assumes it wasn’t the Georgian equivalent of Monty Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks. He may also have bought Kinder Lee Mill in Chisworth with his brother James in 1823.

House at the bottom of Cliffe Road (4 Cross Cliff?)

This house, set back from Cross Cliffe almost at the bottom, has a wonderful datestone: stars, wheatsheaves, and a Masonic compass, with the letters ‘R’ ‘R’ ‘O’ and ‘S’. Actually, is that an ‘O’? Or perhaps a flower? I have no information about the place, nor the letters (Robinson again?), and one cannot simply knock on a door and say “What-ho… tell me about your house”. One tends to get stared at, with vague mutterings about “setting the dogs on you”, and “lunatics disturbing the peace”. Alas. If anyone has any information about this house, or indeed any of the houses, drop me a line.

Also, and seriously, if anyone knows of any more datestones that aren’t in the above list, and which date from before 1837, then please let me know. I’ll credit you, too, so you can be famous… to all 11 of you who read the blog (including Juan in Venezuela).

Oh, and some news. I’ve been working on the Glossop Cabinet YouTube account recently, and hopefully will be producing videos of me finding bits and pieces, mudlarking, talking archaeology, exploring, playing with pottery, and much more (can anyone else hear that groaning noise every time I mention pottery?). So if you like the blog, then you’ll love this. I’ll post a link asap.

Also, I’ve recently set up a Ko-Fi account which allows you lucky folk to ‘virtually’ buy me a drink if you wish. There is no pressure to do so, obviously; I do the blog because I enjoy doing it, and am constantly amazed that other people enjoy reading it (which is reward enough, it really is). However, if you do fancy buying me a pint to say cheers, I’ll never say no – please click this link, and mine’s a red.

That’s all for now I think. I’ll post something else before Christmas, possibly pottery related, you lucky lucky people (there’s that noise again). But until then, I remain,

Your humble servant,

Dinting · History · Nicholas Garlick

The Blessed Nicholas Garlick – Glossop’s Almost Saint

July 24, 2021July 24, 2021 Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

What ho, gentle readers! I trust you are all well in these trying times?

I’ve been wanting to make this post for a while, but I’ve only recently got round to doing the research. And my, it is a fascinating story of a turbulent period of history, and of a person who is much less well known than he ought to be – Glossop’s own almost saint, the Blessed Nicholas Garlick. Why I say ‘almost saint‘ will become apparent, but here is a man who died a martyr, is venerated as such within the Roman Catholic Church, and yet – outside of St Mary’s Roman Catholic church here – he is little known about in Glossop. So, exactly 433 years to the day after his brutal death, read on.

The Blessed Nicholas Garlick. This stained glass window is in the Lady Chapel of St Mary’s RC Church, in Derby.

Nicholas Garlick was born in about 1555 in Dinting, specifically in the hamlet now known as Higher Dinting, here:

The hamlet of Dinting as it was, one of the original settlements that made up Glossop.

Dinting is one of the oldest parts of Glossop. It is mentioned in the Domesday Book (I discussed it in a previous post – here), and I find it fascinating that somebody has lived on this very spot for at least 1000 years. The original Robert Hamnett notes that the Garlicks are an old family in the area, and the isolated hamlet was their home until relatively recently. Indeed, it is still quite a common surname in the Glossop area, and would seem to be chiefly associated with this part of the world.

The hamlet of Dinting, nestled into Mouselow.

Dinting closer up. Surviving 17th and 18th century buildings cluster round this distinct place, far removed from what think of as Dinting – essentially the arches and the railway station.

Garlick was clearly an intelligent man and went to Oxford University, entering Gloucester Hall (now Worcester College) in January 1575. However, he lasted only 6 months at Oxford, and never graduated. Given what we know of his later actions, it is likely that he refused to take the Oath of Supremacy – something as a student he would be required to do – and was therefore dismissed. The Oath of Supremacy meant swearing acknowledgment that the monarch (Elizabeth I at the time) was Supreme Governor of the Church of England – something that a devout Roman Catholic simply couldn’t do, as he would have recognised only the Pope as the head of the Church. And here is the rub; Nicholas was a Roman Catholic in a time when Roman Catholics were mercilessly persecuted.

From 1533 onwards, Henry VIII’s ministers, led by the king himself, systematically dismantled the Roman Catholic faith in Britain, and replaced it with Protestant Christianity in the form of Anglicanism, and the Church of England. This was forced on the people, often against their will and under great duress, and much of what they had believed in prior to this was now declared ‘wrong’. I think it is difficult to overstate the effect that this would have on people, as the fundamentals of their religious world, that shaped their lives and structured their year, were upturned. Even simple things such as Mass now being celebrated in English, not Latin, or that praying for souls in purgatory, often loved ones, was pointless because there was no longer a purgatory. What was the simple man or woman to make of that? By the time Nicholas was born it was theoretically possible to be a practicing Roman Catholic, although you were known as a ‘recusant’ (somebody who refuses, in this case refuses to attend Anglican services), and were subject to heavy fines and social stigmatisation. However, the celebration of Mass in Roman Catholicism requires a priest, and both were expressly forbidden under pain of death.

After leaving Oxford he moved to Tideswell, near Buxton, and became a school master at the Bishop Robert Pursglove’s Grammar School for a number of years (the school was founded in 1560, and the later 18th century incarnation of the building still stands).

Tideswell Grammar School as it is now – a later 18th century building replacing the 1560 Elizabethan one.

His Catholic faith was clearly strong at this time, as three of his pupils later became priests, and one, Christopher Buxton, was himself executed for his faith.

This is odd, though. Teaching of even a hint of Roman Catholic doctrine was expressly illegal, and could have landed Garlick a death sentence. So what’s going on? I dug around a bit, and it seems that Bishop Robert Pursglove who founded the school, and who employed Garlick, was an interesting character. A native of Tideswell, he was born in 1504, and later became a priest, then prior, then bishop. He seems to have swayed with the to-ing and fro-ing of the Reformation from Catholic to Protestant, and back again… and again. But, a little further research shows that he too refused to take the Oath of Supremacy on multiple occasions (something noted as highly suspect at the time), and an official Queen’s Council report of him records that he is “stiff in Papistry”, essentially he was clinging to the old religion, rather than embracing the new. He also enthusiastically embraced Queen Mary’s reintroduction of Roman Catholicism, becoming prebend of Southwell Minster, Nottinghamshire, during her reign. In addition, his memorial brass in Tideswell Church shows him in Roman Catholic Bishop’s dress, something that was also expressly forbidden by Elizabeth I.

Bishop Pursglove as a Roman Catholic bishop. The image is stolen from Distant Thoughts blog – written by a chap called Pursglove, and is an interesting read. Check out his mystery plate post, too. I’m dying to know more…

Pursglove also had strong connection with many recusant families in the area, some of whom were friends and relatives. North Derbyshire was known at the time as an area of strong recusancy, in particular in the area around Tideswell, and focussed on several local families – the Pegges, the Eyres, the Hunlokes, the Poles, and perhaps most important of all, the FitzHerberts. It seems, then, that the good Bishop played a significant role in that, even allowing distinctly Catholic teaching in his school. All this is speculative, of course, but the evidence does add up – Pursglove was probably a recusant Catholic. The fact that he was never investigated, arrested, or even publicly chastised, despite playing fast and lose with the rules, suggests he enjoyed a measure of protection, but I really don’t understand how. This too might explain Garlick’s next move. Bishop Pursglove died in May 1580, and on 22nd June 1581, Garlick enters the English College at Rheims in France. We might speculate that the death of Pursglove, and the loss of the protection he gave, forced Garlick to leave Tideswell, and probably hastily.

The English College was founded by exiled English Roman Catholic priests with the purpose of allowing English priests in training to continue their studies. But it also produced missionary priests who were to enter England covertly, minister to existing Catholics and attempt re-conversion of the country. This was what Nicholas trained to do, and he was ordained as a priest in March 1582, leaving for England as a missionary on 25th January 1583.

We know very little of his whereabouts until 1585 when he is caught, arrested, and banished, with the knowledge that if he is caught again he will be executed, as ministering as a priest was at the time a treasonable offence. The reason for this was simple – priests swear an oath of fealty to the Pope as head of the Church, and the papacy was at the time actively supporting France and Spain in their aggressions against England, and was actively seeking the conversion of the country back to Catholicism (indeed, Pope Sixtus V gave his blessing to the Spanish Armada as a crusade against the English). Garlick arrived back in Rheims on 17th October 1585, and two days later he headed back to England.

Once again his whereabouts are unclear, but a spy’s report of 16th September 1586 notes that he “laboureth with diligence in Hampshire and Dorsetshire”, and he crops up in Derbyshire in a government list of recusants in March 1588. He is clearly doing his duty, and is ministering to the needs of recusant Catholics in the area, and it this that is his undoing.

We have to remember that this is the time of Priest’s Holes: priests come to the houses of recusant Catholics and stay for periods of time, acting as a priest to the family and others nearby. However, there are significant networks of spies on the lookout for just such activity, so it all has to be done in secret, and if the officials come knocking, the priest has to be hidden in a Priest’s Hole. If they are caught the whole family would suffer, and the priest would be executed. Horrifically.

On the 12th July 1588 Garlick, and another priest was staying with the Catholic FitzHerbert family in Padley Hall, Padley, about 8 miles from Tideswell. The FitzHerberts were a well known and powerful recusant Catholic family, and whilst they carefully towed the legal line, they steadfastly refused to give up their faith, and this made them a huge target on the hit list of the authorities.

And the worst happened.

Garlick saying mass at the private chapel in Padley Hall. From the stained glass of Padley Chapel.

The sequence of events was actually set in motion by two individuals: Richard Topcliffe, and Thomas FitzHerbert, the son of John FitzHerbert of Padley Hall. Topcliffe was a Catholic catcher par excellence, who liked nothing more than to arrest, torture, and brutalise recusant Catholics and priests – he was, quite simply, a psychopath who enjoyed his work, and was allowed to do so by the authorities. He also had a personal vendetta against the FitzHerbert family. Thomas FitzHerbert on the other hand was seemingly an ambitious, cold-blooded, and immature moron who could think of nothing more than his inheritance. Between them, they came up with a plan that FitzHerbert would pay Topcliffe £3000 if he prosecuted to death his father (John), uncle (Sir Thomas), and cousin (William Basset) in order that Thomas would inherit the estate of Sir Thomas.

It was Thomas’s tip off that sent George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, to arrest his father, and it was Nicholas Garlick’s bad luck to be at Padley Hall when he arrived. The priests, along with John FitzHerbert, his son Anthony, three of his daughters – Jane, Maud, and Mary – and ten servants were all arrested, and the whole party was transferred to jail in Derby. Another Glossop connection here is that George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, was also the lord of Glossop – hence Talbot Road, Talbot Street, and Shrewsbury Street.

The arrest of Nicholas Garlick – from the stained glass of Padley Chapel.

On the 23rd July 1588, the priests were tried for High Treason, and for coming into the kingdom and “seducing” the Queen’s subjects. Garlick’s response was “I have not come to seduce, but to induce men to the Catholic faith. For this end have I come to the country, and for this will I work as long as I live“. Not the best defence, and he was inevitably found guilty. Garlick, along with Ludlam, and another priest, Richard Simpson, was sentenced to be hanged, drawn and quartered:

“That you and each of you be carried to the place from whence you came, and from thence be drawn on a hurdle to the place of execution, and be there severally hanged, but cut down while you are alive; that your privy members be cut off; that your bowels be taken out and burnt before your faces; that your heads be severed from your bodies; that your bodies be divided into four-quarters, and that your quarters be at the Queen’s disposal; and the Lord have mercy on your souls.”.

The sentence was carried out the next day, 24th July 1588. The three priests were taken to St Mary’s Bridge in Derby, with Garlick joking and making merry as they went, even reminiscing with a passer-by about the days they went shooting together, remarking that he was about to “shoot off such a shot as I never shot in all my life“. However, it seems that the local authorities were not well versed in this sort of execution, and the cauldron to be used for the burning of the condemned’s entrails was not hot enough, so there was a delay. Garlick, ever the priest, used this delay to deliver a final sermon, ending by throwing into the crowd religious texts extolling the virtue of the Roman Catholic faith; tradition states that everyone who read the texts were converted. At last, the time came. Simpson was to be executed first, but Garlick moved to the ladder ahead of him, and kissing it, calmly went to that most brutal of deaths. A further calamity occurred – he was hanged for a short time, but as he was taken down from the gallows to be disemboweled, it was noticed that he was still wearing his doublet, and by the time it was removed he was fully conscious and awake, alert to what was happening to him.

Garlick kissing the ladders to the execution platform. Again, from the stained glass of Padley Chapel.

The sentence duly carried out, the heads and quartered body parts of the three priests were put on spikes and displayed on the bridge and elsewhere around Derby, and then tarred and distributed.

Chapel of St Mary on the Bridge, Derby – here he was executed, and his head spiked on the bridge, the remains of which can be seen underneath and attached to the chapel. From here.

It is entirely likely that, given his birth and familial connection with Glossop, one part or another of his worldly remains would have been displayed here, and probably at the market cross in Old Glossop. A sobering thought. Another local legend records that the body parts were removed, and that Garlick’s head was buried at Tideswell church.

An anonymous poem written probably by someone who was a witness to the horrific scene runs thus:

When Garlick did the ladder kiss,
And Sympson after hie,
Methought that there St. Andrew was
Desirous for to die.

When Ludlam lookèd smilingly,
And joyful did remain,
It seemed St. Stephen was standing by,
For to be stoned again.

And what if Sympson seemed to yield,
For doubt and dread to die;
He rose again, and won the field
And died most constantly.

His watching, fasting, shirt of hair;
His speech, his death, and all,
Do record give, do witness bear,
He wailed his former fall.

In 1888, the two Padley Martyrs, as they became known, were given the title ‘Venerable’ by the church – this means they have been declared a ‘servant of God‘, and that they had ‘heroic virtue‘ – essentially the recognition of one’s life work, as well as one’s death. This led to the creation of an annual pilgrimage to Padley Chapel – the converted former gatehouse of the now ruined Padley Hall.

Commemorative card and medal printed and minted following the 1888 declaration of the title ‘Venerable’.

There would have been a private chapel in the hall, and it is suggested that this was in the upper part of the gatehouse. In 1934 the original 16th century altar stone was discovered buried in the garden where it had been hidden by the FitzHerberts prior to their arrest, and would have been the original one that Nichols would have used to celebrate Mass; it now forms the altar in the chapel there.

The altar at Padley Chapel, complete with original stone.

Then, on 22nd November 1987, Nicholas Garlick was Beatified by Pope John Paul II. This is a significant event, and is one of the necessary steps on the road to being declared a saint; if the Church confirms a miracle through his intercession, then he will officially be declared Saint Nicholas of Dinting. Whatever your personal beliefs, it is quite a journey from Dinting to the right hand of God.

Family Hamnett recently visited the chapel and ruined hall – it’s remarkable what is still standing and can be seen, and it’s a wonderful romantic ruin, set in lovely walking country, and with an astonishing, if grim, history:

Padley Chapel, originally the gatehouse to Padley Hall. And a standing stone, too – probably a track marker rather than a prehistoric stone.

The north western range, containing the great hall. There are three doors in front of us – left into the great hall with the huge fireplace behind, right into an ante-room, and middle up a spiral staircase, the base of which can be seen. Look how worn the door steps are.

Close up of the spiral staircase base. Fanstastic!

Master Hamnett exploring the ruined fireplace. It’s huge!

There are lots of medieval tracery and carved bits lying around – some have been incorporated into a wall, but others can be seen.

I also found a Victorian John Smith’s of Tadcaster beer bottle in a wall, which was a nice bonus!

A photograph of a reconstruction of Padley Hall, shamelessly taken from the Time Travellers’ website – they seem to be a good bunch of archaeological types, so go check them out, especially if you live near Sheffield.

The whole place is amazing, and well worth a visit.

If you are interested in this period of history, I cannot recommend highly enough The Stripping Of The Altars by Eamon Duffy – it studies both the state of Catholic religion in England prior to the Reformation, as well as the sweeping and catastrophic changes that occur during and after. Have a look on Amazon, but please make sure you buy it at Bay Tree Books on High Street West in Glossop. An added bonus is that it might be me that sells it to you.

Another view of Nicholas Garlick. Here he is pictured holding a knife in the traditional style of portraying saints holding the method of their martyrdom. This one from the Lady Chapel of St Mary’s Church, Derby (via this website)

I hope you enjoyed this slightly longer than usual post, and unusual subject matter. More pottery next time. What do you mean, “no, please no, spare us the pottery“? I can hear you, you know. Honestly, the nerve of some people. More soon, but until then look after yourselves and each other, and as always, I remain.

Your humble servant,