What ho, delightful historical types (hysterical types?)! Welcome to a new article… don’t worry too much, it’s not pottery (I’m saving that for next time). Nope. This one looks at an interesting feature of Glossop’s personality. Buckle up!
So, some posts I can polish off in an evening (glass of stuff that cheers in hand, obviously). Others takes weeks to brew, and the process can be painfully slow. This one, though, is very different. I started writing it in August 2017… and it’s taken just under 8 years to publish it! No reason as such, it’s just I paused writing it, and moved onto something else, then I went back to it, and then did the same, and so on, and never quite finishing it. In fact, it’s so old, that it was written using an older version of WordPress (the platform I use for my website) which wasn’t really useable any more, and I had to paste the entire thing onto the newer version. Well, here we go.
It’s often said that Glossop is a town of different areas, and with different character. When I first moved here, I realised that a lot of these areas were named ‘town’ – Howard Town, for example. On a simple level, ‘town‘ here refers to a collection of houses in an area rather than the traditional meaning of a large urban conurbation. I wonder of this is a local dialect, or perhaps more likely, Howard Town was named as such, and then the others followed suit, possibly ironically (Roughtown), or perhaps as a way of keeping in fashion (Milltown? Anway, this and is a which got me thinking… how many of these towns are there? And where are they all?
Well, in answer to these questions, may I present…
MILLTOWN
Despite its location, and seemingly obvious derivation, Milltown as an area has nothing to do with the Victorian mills, but instead it is so named because of its proximity to the medieval corn mill. Situated on what is now Corn Street, the mill was owned by the Lord of the Manor, and the people of the area paid to have their corn ground there – and nowhere else. It was, to all intents and purposes, a bit of a racket, but one that was universal throughout the land at the time. As you can see from the map below (and from photographs), there was a flour mill here in 1898, an 18th century building replacing an earlier one. It was demolished in the 1920’s, but you can still see the mill leat running alongside Corn Street. Also, the bridge over Shelf Brook as called Cornmill Bridge, which I did not know until just before I wrote these words… I love that!
Milltown marked in orange, to include the Corn Mill. In reality, Milltown is now just the area to the south of High Street East. On the map above, you can see the Corn Mill (1), Corn Street (2), and Cornmill Bridge (3). Milltown as a present day place is that to the south of High Street East, and comprising Milltown (the street) and Mill Street (4). The area has changed massively, but one constant is the Prince of Wales pub on the corner of those streets (I blogged about it here); pubs are often the only thing left after whole streets are demolished, as indeed is the case here.
LEAN TOWN
Lean Town is the name given to a group of four houses at the bottom of an apparently unnamed lane that runs from Hague Road to Gnat Hole. I can’t believe it is unnamed, but there you go… no map or document has so far given me a name! As you come from The Beehive toward Derbyshire Level, you pass a right hand downward track – follow this and eventually you hit Lean town. I wrote about Lean Town, here.
Lean Town. 1 is the track down from Derbyshire Level, 2 is Chunal.
The origin of the name ‘Lean Town’ is unclear; it might mean lean, as in not very rich, or poor for growing crops, or might be derived from ‘ling’, meaning the plant ‘heather‘ that grows around here.
CHARLESTOWN
Once an area in its own right, it is now largely remembered in the name of Charlestown Road (and Charlestown Motors who I can heartily recommend, as it happens).
Sort of this area, give or take. Charlestown Road runs from top down, and the PH (Public House) marked on the map is now Steak Land (replacing a firm favourite of mine, Casa d’Italia, although the word on the street is the Steak Land is amazing, so there’s that!)
ROUGHTOWN
Hope Street in Old Glossop was known as Roughtown, seemingly referring to the uncouth behaviour of its inhabitants, largely quarrymen from the nearby Glossop Low Quarries just up the road.
1 – Hope Street, 2 – The Greyhound pub, a factor in Roughtown’s reputation.
Apparently Roughtown was used as a semi-official name, with it appearing on census returns and trade directories of the time. Sticking with Old Glossop, we have…
TOP O’ TH’ TOWN
The area between Thorp Street and Church Street in Old Glossop. It is, I suppose, quite literally the top of the town.
And the area at the end of Top o’ th’ Town is known as ‘Town End‘, which make sense. Over in Whitfield, however, we have…
FREETOWN
Stretches from the bottom of Whitfield Cross to the junction with Charlestown Road.
This sort of area, here. and particularly the road called Freetown.
Technically, and originally, Freetown was the name given to this area of Whitfield, with the name being derived from the fact that the land in this area, and subsequent houses built here, were freehold, as indeed it is still the case (my own house here included).
HOWARD TOWN
Essentially, what we understand as Glossop – the railway, Norfolk Square, the crossroads, and the whole area around the market and Wetherspoons.
Named after Bernard Edward Howard, 12th Duke of Norfolk (1765-1842) who invested heavily in Glossop – money and time. He built roads, the town hall, remodelled the whole area, and changed the focus of Glossop from what we now know as Old Glossop to what we now know as Glossop, but was originally Howard Town. This may have been the start of the ‘town’ naming process, as others followed suit, whether by flattery or through satire.
JERRYTOWN
A bit of an obscure one this – it’s mentioned by Hamnett as stretching along High Street West, from roughly The Grapes inn to the former Junction Inn and around.
1 – The Grapes, 2 – The former Junction Inn (now Simple Lettings), 3 – Primrose Lane.
Apparently named after a Jerry Sykes (1779 – 1856) who built a number of houses in this area in the 1820’s.
And there we have it! The many towns of Glossop town. I can already feel several of you desperate to tell me that I’ve got something wrong, or that I’ve missed a ‘town’ out. Please feel free to do so. Honestly, please let me know if I’ve messed up – I’d rather the information was correct.
I do have pottery for next time, and I owe you a new Rough Guide To Pottery – Part 11 unless I’m mistaken, you lucky people, you.
In other news, I’m doing a guided walk at the end of the month… which should be amazing.
Now that spring is coming I’m going to be walking the route of the Where/Whens so far published, and trying out some other new routes. Tickets for these will be available after the above walk has been done, and will be at the weekend, so everyone can take part – come and join us! Watch this space.
Talking of Where/When, No.5 has just been released.
An exploration of the history and archaeology of the Longdendale Trail, from the start at Hadfield to the tunnel entrances. Honestly, there is so much to see.
It’s available to buy from the usual places – Dark Peak Books, 96 High Street West, Glossop; the website’s store; or you can track me down and buy one.
I’m busy! Too busy, but it’s happening! I’ll post again soon, but until then, please look after yourselves, and each other, and I remain.
What ho, people, what ho! I hope you are all well and are suitably recovered after the Christmas season?
A word heavy – and pottery light – blog post today (those of you cheering at the back… don’t think I can’t hear you). It’s also a little speculative, too. Archaeology, and indeed history, rely on interpretation, and how we understand and use the evidence presented to us affects the story we tell. We don’t always have all the answers, and we do make mistakes, but speculation is essential, so let’s imagine… today’s story is of Anglo-Saxon Glossop, so buckle up!
Now, I love a good placename or two. Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll say “Oh yes, old TCG loves a good placename or two. He really loves them”. And then they’ll give a look. That look. I’ve never worked out what it means, that look, but shortly after the person who asked will give a nod of recognition, and say something along the lines of “… oh! I see!” And then both will turn to me, cock their heads and smile kindly, and give me an entirely different look, one of benevolence and calmness, that seems to say “awww, bless you“. Worryingly, I often get the same look from Mrs CG and Master CG. Anyway, moving swiftly on.
So then, Glossop in the Anglo-Saxon period; the Dark Ages, so-called due to the lack of historical knowledge. This is, truthfully, something of a misnomer, and our understanding of the turbulent period of 600 years between the Romans ‘leaving’ (410AD) and the Norman Invasion (1066) is becoming clearer all the time… mostly. For our own area, though, it is still by and large a black hole of historical detail. We know something was here during this time – we have Roman (certainly early Roman), and it’s highly unlikely that the military abandonment of Melandra (probably later 2nd century AD) meant that everyone left the area, especially given the location at the head of the Longdendale Valley. The Domesday survey of 1086AD lists 10 villages hereabouts, so there is definitely something here 600 years later that didn’t just spring into being overnight.
Phil Sidebottom has recently written an excellent book called ‘Pecsaetna‘ (and do feel free to order from our marvellous local bookstore – Dark Peak Books) which looks at the Anglo-Saxon tribal grouping that lived in this area – the Pecsaetna, or ‘Peak Sitters’ – of which we Glossopians should rightfully be proud to be a member of. It doesn’t cover Glossop as such – we are very much on the periphery of what was already a backwoods – but it is a great read for anyone who is interested in what was going on in the Peak District during this period. But the fact of the matter is that there is very little archaeology to be found relating to these 600 or so years; to be precise: 3 stone crosses (the 10th century Mercian Round Shafts – Whitfield Cross and Robin Hood’s Picking Rods), and placenames. That’s it. We don’t even have any pottery to look at, as it seems that in this area people were largely a-ceramic – that is, they simply didn’t use pottery. Imagine, a world without pottery… now that’s a sobering thought.
Some of the placenames in the area I have covered before (the main Domesday ones, for example), but some others I haven’t, and in particular, Mottram (in Longdendale), I find particularly interesting. It is probably derived from (ge)mot (a meeting or assembly) and either ‘treum‘ (tree or cross) or ‘trum‘ (a place or space). Either way, it is almost certain it describes a place where meetings took place, marked possibly by a tree or a cross. These meeting places – or ‘moots’ – have been described as the “cornerstone of Anglo-Saxon governance”, in that various Anglo-Saxon statutes dictated that these councils met publicly every four weeks at these moots to discuss local matters – think of them as local councils and magistrates. They are important places, often marked by a prominent feature – often a cross or a tree – and were in an elevated position – a hill, or lower slope, overlooking much of the land. The one at Mottram fits the bill perfectly, and it was possibly the extreme north eastern moot place of the pre-conquest Hamestan Hundred, right on the border of the land (the River Etherow). All very intriguing stuff, and has relevance for Part 2 of this Dark Age speculation – coming soon.
However, one small group of placenames got me thinking recently, and these are those that have a Scandinavian origin, and by Scandinavian I mean, essentially, Viking.
Soooo… Clan CG went on a week-long jaunt in Norway last summer. And wow, what a country! Beautiful, full of life and history, nature and culture… there is something about Scandinavia that really appeals to me. And at every stop (we hired a campervan) there was wild swimming. Marvellous stuff – the clean water of the fjords; fresh, invigorating, life affirming, health giving. I mean to say, not for me, obviously! I dipped a toe or two in… but brrr – far too cold! So I stayed on the bank and cheered on Master and Mrs CG, who seemed to enjoy it!
One of the places we visited was Trondheim, a lovely town right at the top of an enormous Fjord, next to an an enormous mountain; scale is a thing in Norway, and I’m sure these landmarks would be puddle and hillock respectively to the locals. We parked up a hill out of town and walked in, and as we approached a crossroads, my sherdy-sense tingled. No, not sherdy-sense, something else. And then I saw it… the road names. We were walking down “Langes Gate“, and we had just crossed “Storgata“, and before I knew what was afoot, my brain had forced out a mighty “what ho!” which might have alarmed the natives somewhat.
I recognised the word ‘gate‘ or ‘gata‘ from British placenames. Scandinavian in origin, meaning street or road, locally it can be found in Doctors Gate and Redgate, and this reminded me of a pet theory of mine, and I began to hastily scribble words down back in the campervan that evening, a glass of stuff that (expensively) cheers clasped firmly in hand.
Of those Domesday placenames I looked at, one really stuck in my mind, niggling with possibility. Truthfully, sometimes these things do, and I don’t know why; they shimmer and make a noise in my head, drawing attention to themselves more than others – I assume it’s my brain making connections, rather than an objective noise, but you never know… and once again, I feel I have overshared!)
Simmondley. First mentioned in the Forest Proceedings of 1285 as ‘Simundesleg‘, and then later as Simondeslee, the origin of the name is “the clearing (or ley/legh) in the forest belonging to a man named Sigemund (Old English) or Sigmundr (Scandinavian [Viking]): Simmondley. Ok then, so we have a possible ‘Viking’ name, but there is no evidence for Vikings hereabouts. Or is there? And this is where is started to get interesting.
The Vikings – and all manner of Scandinavian folk – first began raiding the coastlines of England en masse at the start of the 9th century. Eventually, the raiding stopped, and it became a steady flow of immigration, settlement, and farming – swords to ploughshares, and all that. It’s a big country, there was a lot of land, and so they stuck around, and in doing so they changed not only the language we use, but also the placenames of the area they settled – in particular, the area that became known as Danelaw – where they were allowed to keep following their own laws as long as they were loyal to English (Saxon) kings. The exact limits of Danelaw is a bit of an unknown, but it roughly stretched from Essex to Northumbria, and across to the Mersey – this is lifted from the Wikipedia page, and Danelaw is in red.
As you can see, whilst we are on the border, we Peak Sitters are still within Anglo Saxon (English) controlled lands, hence we don’t have many Scandinavian placename elements hereabouts, those name endings such as –thorpe –holme, –by, and -ton that are common enough just over in West Yorkshire, but not at all here. It has been suggested that the limit of Danelaw, whilst flexible, may have been the River Etherow and Derwent Valley, making us very much at the limit of Saxon land (If you are really interested, the always excellent before1066 blog has a great read about the Danelaw in our part of the world – you can read it here). But this area is firmly Saxon in language, and thus in placename.
Or so it seemed… and here it gets speculative.
Whilst the area was never settled properly, Sidebottom notes that a small number of areas in the Peak District have Norse derived placenames in their landscape, perhaps indicating the presence of settlers (Monyash, for example). These, he suggests, are Hiberno-Norse settlers – in essence, Vikings who had settled in Ireland, but were expelled from there in the early 10th century and settled in the area around Chester and the Wirral. From here, they moved east and were allowed land to the east of Manchester, specifically in the marginal western slopes of the Pennines. Hmmm… east of Manchester, in the slopes of the Pennines…. does that description sound familiar? Yeah, it rang a bell with me.
These were not true Vikings, and were actually 2nd or 3rd generation immigrants, but they would have spoken their language, and whilst they might not have named any existing settlements as such, they used their dialect words to name the elements of the landscape, and these don’t often change.
It was the origin of the placename Simmondley that initially rang the bell of possibility. It is first mentioned in the Forest Proceedings of 1285 as ‘Simundesleg‘, and then later as Simondeslee. The meaning of the name is “the clearing (or ley/legh) in the forest belonging to a man named Sigemund (an Old English name) or Sigmundr (a Norse name): Sigemund’s Legh = Simmondley. We assume it’s Saxon, because there are no Norsemen around here… but what if there were? And then the second bell was rung in Trondheim… Gate. In the Simmondley area, this is found as part of Hargate (as in Hargate Hill), but are there any other placenames of Norse origin in the Simmondley area, I wondered?… and promptly disappeared down a rabbit hole that I’m still not sure I have come out of!
So then, there are six Norse placename elements that occur in the Simmondley area:
Simmondley itself, we have already discussed, but its possible meaning is the ‘clearing in the woods belonging to Sigmundr‘. Sigmundr, and presumably his family, may well have arrived from Cheshire way, and cleared a smallholding in the woodland, where he would have set about naming things in his native tongue! Interestingly, Simmondley isn’t in the Domesday survey, possibly because it was simply a farm and too small to be recorded as its own settlement, so was just recorded under Charlesworth generally. We also need to realise that it may have only been in existence for 100 years in 1086, possibly even less.
Sitch – here used in Sitch Farm on Monks Road directly up from Simmondley. Sitch is derived from Old Norse ‘Sik‘ meaning a small stream, especially those flowing through flatland and marshy areas. It occurs elsewhere in Glossop: Wall Sitch by St James’ Church (discussed here), and Back Sitch, a footpath in Old Glossop.
Nab – here used in Whitley Nab. It is derived from the Old Norse ‘Nabbr‘ meaning a projecting peak or hill, which sums up the Nab perfectly. The Whitley (or Whiteley) part is presumably referring to a clearing; white here meaning without colour.
Royd – here used in Hobroyd. The word – meaning clearing – is not exclusively Norse, as it is found in Saxon places too: the root is the same for both German and Norse. But it is often used as evidence for Norse influence when found with other Norse placenames. Interestingly, the word ‘Hob’ here means a hobgoblin or other supernatural creature; Hobroyd is the ‘clearing belonging to the goblin‘. Bizarre.
Storth – here found in Storth Brook Farm and the adjacent Storth Brow Farm. The word Storth is Old Norse and means a young wood or plantation, possibly one planted.
Gate – here found in Hargate Hill Farm. Gate, from the Norse, Gata, meaning road.
This last one, the one that started this whole merry dance, is for me the cherry on the cake, and what just about convinces me. It gets its first mention as Hargatt in 1623 in the burial record of Widow Robinson. Now, 1623 is 650 years after the time we are talking about, but placenames stick around, and rarely change; this is why we call Glossop, Glossop: some 1000+ years ago, someone described the area as “oh, you know, Glott’s Hop“… and here we all are, on this website. Perhaps more importantly, church records only go back to 1620 in Glossop – very very late, but not uncommon, so 1623 is only the first mention we have, not when the place spring into being. ‘Gate’ makes sense, but the ‘Har’ element makes little sense, until we find in 1664 it is referred to as ‘Hardgate‘, and we see that this is probably the ‘correct’ name, and that all others are variants of this – the ‘d‘ being an obvious sound to drop.
This got me thinking: Hardgate… Hard Road? And then I realised that the Roman Road from Buxton passes through the area just west of the settlement. Was Hardgate referring to the ‘Hard Road’ of the only decent road in the area, a beautifully built and ‘hard’ surfaced Roman Road, as opposed to the muddy nightmare tracks that the rest of the area was filled with, and which even in the early 1800’s were still being moaned about? I wondered about the word Hard, and on a whim I entered the English word into Google Translate. Do you know what the Norwegian word for ‘hard‘, meaning solid or inflexible is?
‘Hard‘.
Hargate/Hardgate simply means the ‘Hard Road’ in Norwegian. I am convinced this refers to the Roman Road in their native tongue, and that convinces me that this whole ‘Viking’ enclave in Simmondley is a real thing. At least, I’m convinced… for now; I realise I’m not a placename specialist, and that this is something of a stretch. But c’mon…
Location of the placenames
So the next time you are in the Co-Op buying beans and some bread, remember: “We Gardena in geardagum, þeodcyninga, þrym gefrunon, hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon…” and all that!
Ok, so, I can already hear the army of linguists and placename specialists lighting torches and starting to yell. Truthfully, I’m out of my depth here, but I believe what I’ve written. If you know better, please let me know… I’m always happy to be wrong, as it’s how we learn. But more importantly, if you know of any other Norse placenames in the Simmondley area, please let me know. Part 2 of this post – coming soon – is even more contentious! And in between – probably – is another instalment of the Rough Guide to Pottery… I know you have missed it so. Although the screaming I’m hearing (and swearing… don’t think I can’t hear that too) is a little off-putting. But in l know you are only joking, so as a reward, I’ll put in extra photographs.
Until then, though, look after yourselves and each other, and until next time, I remain.
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 13th 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). Shepherd’s Society – the list of members of that society that met in Glossop and Longdendale (read it here). 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. Definitely, though, Thomas Garside in 1807 in SS
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)
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:
Just Hobroyd Farm has been added.
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:
The area is becoming filled in.
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.
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!).
I am in awe of its triangular shape!
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.
What wonders await under that red pin?
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.
Glossop, Manitoba… what can I say?
There must be something nearby… surely. Let’s look down the road:
Nope, nothing this way, let’s look behind us…Nope, nothing.
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.
(well, it is here and now, but I suppose it depends on when you are reading this… in which case, feel free to substitute “evening” for whatever part of the day you happen to be reading this.)
Perhaps I should start again.
What ho!
A short one today – I realise that I haven’t been as active as I’d like, so rather than labour over a larger post, and as a sort of proof that I’m still alive, I present today’s smaller offering – the area of Glossop known as Bridgefield. This is a place you drive through without ever noticing it is there – blink and you miss it as you go from Charlestown to Dinting along Primrose Lane. It is also a great example of why maps are so useful as a record of places – without it being drawn on the map, it is likely that Bridgefield would have ceased to be remembered as a place at all.
I have commented elsewhere that older names for places are usually based on reality, and reflect a different set of priorities – largely truthfulness in description: Gnat Hole was not named ironically, and so it is with Bridgefield, it was – and is – the field with the bridge. Well, actually bridges, plural – there are two. The first is where Primrose Lane crosses Long Clough Brook, circled in blue on the map below. But it is the second one – a small footbridge over the Long Clough Brook – that I think is the more interesting of the pair, and is indeed the older. Moreover, it actually is in the ‘Bridge Field’, rather than two fields over. And so, this humble little bridge is the target of today’s fevered ramblings. The bridge, or to be precise an earlier incarnation, is circled in green in the map below.
A rather colourful rendering. The bridge of Bridgefield is marked in green.
It crosses Long Clough Brook at the bottom of Slatelands Road, and now forms the bottom end of a footpath from Pikes Lane, emerging into Primrose Lane. This track – marked in red in the map above – wends its way between houses and land, and is known locally as the Chicken Run; indeed it still has chickens at the bottom. It was also known as the ‘Giggle Gaggle’, apparently, which recalls strongly the ‘Gibble Gabble’ in Broadbottom – another track that wends its way between houses and land. Indeed, it is suggested that Gibble Gabble (and thus Giggle Gaggle) is a localised (Mottram, Broadbottom, Glossop) dialect name for what is known elsewhere as a ‘ginnel’ (a track that wends its way between houses and land), which makes sense (here is a little more on the subject). According to A Journey Through Glossop by Kate Best and Owen Russell this same trackway was also known as Burneen by the nuns of the convent on Shaw Street, who used it to get to Hobroyd.Burneen is a version of the Irish term, Boreen, which means… anyone? Anyone? That’s right – a track, usually one that wends its way between houses, etc. There is a theme here… if only I could spot it. David Frith in his Pathwise in Glossop and Longdendale (p.60, Path 40) notes that this path went through allotments, and was known as the ‘Flagged Fields’, again strongly suggestive of a maintained trackway or road.
Joking aside this track is very important; I am convinced it forms part of the medieval road (such as it was) between Charlesworth, via Simmondley, to (Old) Glossop. The track goes along Old Lane in Simmondley (the name is a clue), down a sunken trackway that might indicate both age and heavy use, and emerges along another ‘fossilised’ footpath, preserving the original trackway ‘in stone’ – here, at the bottom of Simmondley New Road and Moorside Close:
The tail end of the track that comes from Charlesworth via Simmondley (Old Lane).
It continues along the footpath until it meets Pike’s Lane. This track will be the subject of a future blog post as it is a vital part of the history of the area, and well worth an explore, but for now let’s return to the bridge. Here it is, then, the current bridge of Bridgefield.
The bridge over the brook.
This bridge is quite modern, being made from rolled steel ‘I Beams‘, and it is clearly the latest in a long line of bridges of various sorts.
It works as a bridge, but it’s certainly not romantic.
We may assume that the earlier bridges were made from stone in one form or another, but looking into the brook, I noticed some large flat stones – much bigger and more substantial than paving slabs – that look out of place.
They’re not easy to make out, but the slabs are dotted along this stretch of Long Clough Brook, directly below the bridge. Incidentally, the Brook marks the border between Whitfield and Simmondley – as we look at the photo above, Simmmondley is on the right, Whitfield left.
Am I wrong to imagine that these once might have made up the medieval and early modern bridge in the form of a Clapper Bridge? The stones having fallen, but not moved very far by man or water.
A Clapper Bridge. This example is at Postbridge in Dartmoor, but they are a common way of forming a river crossing, especially where the banks are high – as they are at Bridgefield.
If I’m honest, I probably am wrong; the whole area has been extensively messed around with by the building of mills and mill ponds, as well as work on the brook itself with the building of weirs and shaping the banks. It’s difficult to get an idea what the area would have looked like, and it’s unlikely that any vestiges of the original bridge remain. But still, let’s imagine.
EDIT
Actually, further evidence to support the Clapper Bridge idea might be suggested by the fact that Slatelands Road, which runs down to the bridge, was once known as ‘Stoney Causey‘, the Stoney Causeway. The word ’causeway’ normally indicates a raised roadway across wet ground, as opposed to a bridge per se. which would fit quite nicely.
However, the importance that was once given to Bridgefield is underlined by the fact that the Reverend John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, preached here. Now, that Wesley preached in Glossop is not in itself big news – he preached all over, favouring the open air, and had a fondness for this part of England, returning time and again to spread the word of his particular brand of Christianity. But the fact that he chose Bridgefield as the location for the crowds of people that would have gathered – some jeering and making mock, others listening intently and converting – is significant. It indicates that this was an important place, and vital in communicating between towns – Glossop and Charlesworth/Simmondley, but also one that was well known enough that people all over Glossop would come and hear him. In his diary, Wesley records the following entry:
Friday, 27th March 1761 “I rode to Bridgefield, in the midst of the Derbyshire mountains, and cried to a large congregation, “If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink.” And they did indeed drink in the word, as the thirsty earth the showers.”
Well there you go. Who knew that this often overlooked corner of Glossop had an interesting history. As I say, I’m going to blog about the Charlesworth to Glossop track in a future post as it’s a hugely important thing, and part of a larger project that is trying to identify all such trackways in the immediate area. I also recently did some mudlarking in Long Clough Brook, so should probably post the results.
Right, until next time, please take care of yourselves and each other.
Alas, a mis-attribution in the Place-Names of Derbyshire has meant I have barked up the wrong tree! That’s not to say that there definitely isn’t a cross at Cross Cliffe, as suggested below, just that we can’t rely on the early place name evidence. Read the insightful comments by Neil Buckley below, which give what must surely be the correct reading of the text. My thanks to him for supplying the information, and working out the details. I’ll return to this in a later post as I think it is important, and in the meantime, feel free to re-read the blog post.
You know those moments when something that you have been staring at for years suddenly, and jarringly, comes into focus, and there is a slight tingle at the back of the neck. And then you dig a little deeper, and the tingle becomes a hunch, and then a possibility, and then a… you get the idea. Well, I’m there, and I’d like to share a discovery with you. This is still theoretical, even if the theory is based on good evidence, and I’m fairly certain that I can never prove it. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Diving in and out of The Place-Names of Derbyshire to various previous blog posts (HERE and HERE) was a joy, and had me marvelling at both the sheer number of placenames recorded in the book, and the incredible depth of scholarship that accompanied their explanation. For those that have never read the book (and you should), it is a list of all the names of towns, villages, fields, roads, and streams in the area. However, on page 104, under the Glossop general heading, I came across a curious entry that got me thinking.
Here is the page in question
Specifically the entry for the road/area Cross Cliff, in Whitfield. For those of you who don’t now the area (and why not?), Cross Cliffe is this area, here:
Cross Cliffe is broadly that area circled in red.
Although now it gives its name to a road, it was once an area (circled in red above) which started at the bottom of Cliffe Road and lead down to Hurst Clough. The entry in the book reads:
Cross Cliff (6″), crucem de Cresclyf 1285 For.
It gives the earliest example of the name (crucem de Cresclyf), the date of this (1285), and the reference for this example (For = Forest Proceedings). So far, so perfectly ordinary.
So then, Cross Cliffe… and then a thought. “Hang on a minute… Crucem de Cresclyf?“
Now, I’ll admit it, my medieval Latin is about as good as my understanding of the language of the San people of Botswana – the one that uses clicks and other sounds. Or indeed, Klingon. I checked, and was – broadly – right (hurrah… personal victory, I’ll take that). I also checked with a real linguist (thank you AG), and was – broadly – backed up.
Crucem de Cresclyf: the cross of Cross Cliffe.
The cross? Which cross? Oooooh…
Bloody hell, thought I, and I went and bored Mrs Hamnett with this potential discovery. More research later, and I think I have just about convinced myself.
This, the first reference to Cross Cliffe, is taken from a 1285 document which gives a description of the boundary of land owned by a certain Thomas le Ragged. Thomas was a forester in the Peak Forest, and was given the lands by William Peverel, son of William the Conquerer and resident of the castle in Castleton. These lands included the hamlet of Whitfield. The descendants of Thomas le Ragged sold the Whitfield portion in 1330 to a John Foljambe, and from there it was portioned off and sold in lumps (Whitfield really does have an interesting history).
The description of the boundary of this land reads: Required by the Foresters and others concerning the metes and bounds of the land of Thomas le Ragged of Fernley who claimed liberties, who say, that the metes and bounds of the said lands of the said Thomas begin at the Bridge of Welegh by the Royal Way to the (cross) to Crescliff, and from the said cross by certain caves (fovia) up to Routing-clought, and from Routing to Brownhegge, and up to the Waynstones, and from Waynstones descending to the Hocklow, and from Hocklow descending to the water of G’wit and by the water of G’wit ascending to the wood of Horworth.
Boundaries are based on and related to landscape features, and always incorporate immovable and visible objects, ones that can’t be disputed. Now, out of this, only a few points are identifiable. Whaley Bridge, Cross Cliffe, Hucklow, the River Goyt (G’wit), and possibly the Wain Stones on Bleaklow (although, I suspect that it may reference another ‘Wain Stones’, now lost to us). The other places I have not been able to identify (any help would be appreciated), and I’m not sure what to make of the caves – are these literal or figurative, and does a cave (fovia in the text) in the 14th century mean the same as it does now.
I digress, as the important bit here relates to Crosse Cliffe, or rather “crucem de Cresclyf” as it is in the orginal – the cross of Cross Cliffe. Not the bridge at Cross Cliffe, or the brook at Cross Cliffe, but the cross at Cross Cliffe. This is at a time when they didn’t use metaphors or flowery terms for place names – if it says the cross at Cross Cliffe, it meant the cross at Cross Cliffe. A physical, actual, stone cross. One that has been there long enough for everyone to know where it is, and use it as a point of reference. Which is very interesting. A previously unknown cross.
Its location also would support this. It would be situated on a crossroads – a favoured spot for crosses of this sort (Whitfield Cross for example). The present layout of the roads does not show this easily, but they have been changed, probably in the 18th century – I’ve got a post almost ready to go that explains all that, but here is a map to help:
The cross roads, with Cliffe Road coming from the bottom, Cross Cliffe (the road) on the right, Bank Street on the left, and the original line of the road heading down to the bridge/ford over Hurst Brook, and on to Old Glossop. The green circle marks the – hypothetical – location of the cross. For orientation, the red star marks the location of what was Volcrepe.
The upcoming blog post will make a lot more sense of this area, but for now, roll with it!
This is broadly the area in which the hypothetical cross would have stood. It was once a crossroads, with the road having continued on and down to Hurst Clough 50m away. Probably.
Importantly, the cross would have stood at the border between the manors of Whitfield and Glossop – effectively Hurst Clough – and boundaries like this are exactly the sort of places that crosses are erected. Then there is the name Cross Cliffe. I had always, at the back of my mind, assumed that it meant the place where you crossed the cliff – perhaps a tall edge over Hurst Clough that no longer exists – or simply references the footbridge here. Well no. Delving further into the etymology of the name, it is derived from ‘Cliff‘ meaning a steep river bank, and ‘Cross‘ meaning, well, a cross. The name is literally ‘the steep river bank with a cross on it’, and crucem de Cresclyfe is then ‘the cross of the steep river bank with a cross on it‘. This a perfect description of that monster of a hill – it drops from 650ft at Bright’s Terrace to 500ft at the bridge over Hurst Clough – a 150ft drop over roughly 1000ft.
Placename evidence, coupled with a physical description, and a reading of the landscape and roads, seems fairly convincing. Well, to me anyway.
Now, there might a possibility that I am reading too much into this (‘surely not!’ groans everyone… I can hear you, you know! Don’t think I can’t). The ‘Cross of Cross Cliffe’ might refer to Whitfield Cross which would have been situated at the start of a small rise before the long steep slope down to Hurst Clough. If this is the case, then there is no need to look for another cross. However, I’m just not sure that this is the case. For one, the wording is too specific; “the cross of Cross Cliffe”, not just Cross Cliffe as an area – Whitfield Cross would surely have been too far away to be the cross described there, it is firmly in Whitfield, not Cross Cliffe.
The red circle marks the original location of Whitfield cross, the green circle marks the location of the hypothetical Cross Cliffe cross – a distance of over 1/3 of a mile.
Moreover, if Thomas’s land went to just the Whitfield Cross, then everything beyond that – including what is now Cross Cliff – would be outside of the described land. No, it makes sense his land went to the very edge of Whitfield, and the natural border of Hurst Clough, and it used a cross at the crossroads there as a marker.
What type of cross would it be, then? I would suggest that it was probably the same type as that which originally stood further up the same road at Whitfield – a 10th century Anglo-Saxon stone cross.
If this is correct, then where is the actual cross? 1000 years is a long time for a stone cross to survive. It may have been swept away in the iconoclasm of the Protestant Reformation of the Tudor period, or the iconoclasm that followed the Civil War, when crosses were routinely smashed – I read the other day of a Saxon cross that was broken up and used to fill a pothole in a road. However, the fact that Whitfield Cross survived these periods would suggest to me that Cross Cliffe would have likely survived, too. Perhaps we are looking at something more mundane; maybe it was accidentally broken, or worse, simply forgotten about as an important object, gradually falling into obscurity, to be lost in the hedgerows. Perhaps – and this really is a flight of fantasy – the stealing of the Whitfield Cross by the Cross Cliffe lads as a Mischief Night prank was not just a prank, and instead they were stealing a cross to replace theirs that was lost. It has never made sense that they would steal something so ridiculously large and heavy, so is this the answer? Well, probably not, but one can speculate wildly!
If anyone fancies joining me looking in hedgebacks and ditches for the original cross – after the current corona madness has subsided, obviously – then please drop me a line.
More soon – as I say, I have a whole post about the crossroads almost ready to go.
Until then, stay safe and stay inside, and take care of yourselves and each other.
The thought occurred to me after publishing the previous blog post – what do the names of each of the manors of Longdendale mean? And I thought you, gentle reader, might also be interested.
I find placenames endlessly fascinating, and there is something magical about the origin of a name, whether traced back in the prehistoric period (‘Celtic’ placenames) or of a more recent coinage (Victoria Street, for example, named after Victoria Wood, of course…). Moreover, once you name a place it becomes familiar, and less scary, allowing you to find your place within, and manoeuvre your way through, the landscape. It is also a fundamental aspect of human behaviour: by naming the land, you are taming the land.
We have a huge number of influences in placenames in this area: Celtic, Saxon, Norse (Viking), Norman French, vernacular and slang English, and Welsh, to name a few. All of which mix together to create the landscape, and the places within, we know so well.
So then, using the 3 volume set of The Place-Names of Derbyshire by Kenneth Cameron, and some other sources, I set about finding out.
It may not appeal to everyone, but honestly this is absolutely fascinating book, if flawed due to the large number of placenames, field names, brook names, etc. that have been omitted.
Longdendale
First mentioned in Domesday Book of 1086 as Langedenedele, then Langdundale (1158), and Langdaladala (1161). This is a classic example of a tautology, caused by the naming of a place by someone who didn’t understand the original name. The origin is Lang Denu, ‘the long valley’, to which at some stage someone added the unnecessary ‘Dael‘, meaning ‘valley’ – thus Longdendale means ‘the long valley valley’.
Glossop
First mentioned in Domesday as ‘Glosop’. The Book of Fees of 1219 records it as ‘Glotsop’, and in 1285 it is given as Glosshope. Cameron gives the etymology as Glott’s Hop – Glott’s Valley – The valley (Hop – think Hope, as in Hope Valley) belonging to a man named Glott. Relatively straightforward then. Probably. Other theories are available. Mike Harding, the folk singer, thinks Glott should be read as ‘Gloat’, in which case it is the ‘Valley of the Gloater or Starer’, a reference to the numerous carved stone heads that were, and still are, relatively commonly found in the area (a subject of much debate, and a future blog post). This seems a little too convenient and smacks of mystical wishful thinking, but is still worth considering. It is also a possibility that ‘Glos’ is a derivation of the Welsh ‘Glwys’, meaning silver or grey, in which case it would mean ‘Valley of the Stream called Glwys”, which presumably would be Glossop Brook. Ultimately, I am going to go for Cameron’s ‘Glott’s Valley’ as I think it makes more sense.
Charlesworth
First recorded in 1086 in the Domesday Book as Cheuenwrde, then as Chavelesworth (1285), Chasseworth (1285), and Challesworth (1552). The meaning is either ‘Ceafl’s enclosure‘, the enclosure (worth) belonging to a person called Ceafl, or ‘Ceafl enclosure‘, which would mean ‘the enclosure near the ravine (ceafl)’. This might conceivably refer to the valley of the Etherow, particularly as it nears Broadbottom, but it is unclear. On balance, I prefer the simple ‘the enclosure (worth) belonging to a person called Ceafl’.
Chisworth
First recorded in 1086 in the Domesday Book as Chiswerde, then as Chisteworthe (1285), Chesseworth (1285), and Chesworth (1634). The meaning is simple – ‘Cissa’s enclosure’, the enclosure (worth) belonging to a person called Cissa.
Hayfield
First recorded in 1086 in the Domesday Book as Hedfelt (the same as that at Hadfield below), then Heyfeld (1285), Heathfeld (1577), and Magna Heyfeld (1584 – as opposed to Little Hayfield). Cameron discusses the possibility that there is some confusion regarding this name. In the Domesday Book the meaning is ‘Haed Feld’ – ‘heathy open land’, but the later, Middle English, forms seem to suggest ‘the field where hay is obtained’. Actually, I would suggest that two aren’t incompatible as land use may have changed over the course of 300 years – it is no longer heathy, and instead is more, well, hay-y.
Chunal
First recorded in 1086 in the Domesday Book as Ceohal, then as Chelhala in 1185, and Cholhal in 1309. The origin is Ceola Halh, which means either the ‘the neck of land belonging to a person called Ceola’ or ‘the neck of land by the ravine’. I personally favour the latter, with the ravine here being Long Clough Brook.
Whitfield
First recorded in 1086 in the Domesday Book at Witfelt, then as Wytfeld (1282), Whitefeld (1283) and Whytfelde (1294) in various Inquiries Post Mortem. It is also recorded as Qwytfeld in a land deed of 1424 pertaining to one John del Boure (Bower) of Qwytfeld. The meaning is ‘Hwit Feld‘ – open (figuratively ‘white’) land or field, presumably to differentiate it from the surrounding moorland.
Hadfield
Relatively straightforward, this one. First recorded in 1086 as Hetfelt, and later as Haddefeld (in 1185), Hadesfeld (in 1263), and Hettefeld (in 1331), it is derived from ‘Haed Feld’, meaning ‘heathy open land’ – literally, a heath field.
Padfield
Also relatively straightforward. It is first recorded in the Domesday book of 1086 as Padefeld, and in 1185 as Paddefeld. It means either the ‘open land (feld) belonging to a person called Padda‘, or an ‘open land where the toads live’, from the Old English ‘Padda‘ meaning toad. I like toads and frogs so I’m going with that, but you decide as you see fit.
Dinting
This one is more difficult. First recorded in the Domesday Book of 1086 as Dentinc, and then Dintyng in 1226, and Dontyng in 1285. It is also almost certainly the Dontingclought (Dinting Clough or Dinting Vale, as we now know it) mentioned in the Forest Proceedings of 1285. However, the meaning of this name is difficult to uncover. Cameron suggests that the first part of the word “Dint” is Celtic in origin, but can offer no meaning for the word. The second part ‘ing‘ is commonly encountered, but is complicated as it has many possibilities in its meaning. Here, it either means the ‘place of the Dint‘ (whatever Dint means), or it denotes an association of a person to the place or feature, so here it would be ‘Person X’s Dint‘ (again, whatever Dint means). The other (original… real) Robert Hamnett suggests that the name is made up of two elements – the Celtic word ‘Din‘ meaning ‘camp’, and the Norse ‘Ding‘, meaning ‘council’, thus it means the ‘council camp’, or a place where people meet to discuss law and other matters. Perhaps then we have our meaning – ‘the camp belonging to person x‘, or the ‘place of the camp‘. This latter may well be more likely, given that Dinting as we know it is at the foot of Mouselow Iron Age hillfort.
Kinder
This one is similarly difficult to pin down. First recorded as Chendre in the Domesday Book, then Kunder in 1299, Kynder and Kyndyr variously in the 13th and 14th centuries, and Chynder in 1555. Cameron suggests the name is “pre-English”, that is pre-Saxon and thus probably Celtic. He offer no explanation for its origin, as the “material is not adequate for any certain etymology”, alas. Still, the fact that the name is essentially Iron Age in origin is quite important.
Thornsett
First recorded in 1086 in the Domesday Book as Tornesete, then as Thorneshete (1285), Tharset (1577) and Thorsett (1695). The meaning is very straightforward – Thorn Tree Pasture.
Ludworth
First recorded in 1086 in the Domesday Book as Lodeuorth, then as Ludeworda (1185), Loddeworth (1285), and Luddeworthe (1330). The meaning is very simple – Luda’s Enclosure, the enclosure (worth) belonging to a person called Luda.
That concludes the 12 manors of Longdendale. However, I thought I’d also include Simmondley – even though it’s not one of the original 12, it is one of the towns that make up Glossop as we now know it. Plus, I know people who live there and don’t want them to feel left out.
Simmondley
First mentioned in the Forest Proceedings of 1285 as ‘Simundesleg‘, and then later as Simondeslee, the origin of the name is “the clearing (or ley/legh) in the forest belonging to a man named Sigemund or Sigmundr (an Old English or Scandinavian [Viking] name) – Sigemund’s Legh = Simmondley.
And there you have it.
Here are the 13 (+1) placenames discussed above, illustrated here on a 1794 map.
Well that was fun! I’d like to do some more exploring of names the area; we have a rich tapestry of placenames in England, brought to us from hundreds of different sources, and recorded in countless documents, maps, letters, deeds, books, and memories, and this area seems to be richer than others. So if you enjoyed this, then watch this space. As always comments, questions, offers to buy me a drink, are all welcome.
The Glossop Cabinet of Curiosities 