Archaeology · Pottery

A New Year Quickie!

I say! What!

What ho, you wonderful folk, you. Well, you join me in full panic mode – I promised a December post (actually, pre-Christmas was the promise, but let’s overlook that), and here we are with mere hours of the month, and indeed year, left. Christmas was, as always, busy, especially having the new Job taking almost all of my time, and so I have been lacking in the blog – and pottery – department. And also… Hmmm? What’s that? What do you mean “we don’t care, just get on with it!“. Alright, hint taken… I do have a tendency to ramble on and, you know, procreating – if that’s the word I’m fumbling for – instead of actually doing the thing.

So then… pottery. Taken from my overflowing finds tray that needs to be sorted before Mrs CG sees it. Some choice pieces, perhaps? Okey-dokey!

First up, a simple tea cup fragment.

Very delicate Bone China, with walls less than 2mm thick (you can see light through it), and rim diameter of 9cm. Nothing fancy, and certainly not old (late Victorian), and not even particularly good quality – the transfer printing is a little ropey in places. The design is that of the Willow Pattern spurious legend, and you can just make out one half of one of the birds into which the lovers transformed in order to escape. At first I wasn’t sure why I had this in my finds tray, but then I remembered Master CG and I had found it together on Bank Lane in Tintwistle/Hadfield. It’s also a nice example of its kind.

Next we have this beautiful specimen. And yes, I realise that beauty is in the ‘E’ of the ‘B’, or something, and that equally yes, I am possibly certifiable.

Slightly larger and distinctly less delicate than the first example, we have a Pancheon rim. It’s a huge example – 50cm in diameter – and is chunky. Glazed on the interior, as is traditional, it has a red slipped exterior, and is really roughly finished, which I quite like – there’s a sense of practicality about it, a no-nonsense pot, if you will. There’s smoothing marks all over it, too, and great lumps of inclusions popping through the surface.

If you look at the fabric, you can see the characteristic marbling, with a buff coloured clay mixed with a reddish. It was found in the spoil from a hole dug in Whitfield Cross, and probably dates to the late 18th or very early 19th century, which would make sense as this was when the road was laid out and surfaced. I honestly love this.

Next up we have a tiny fragment of Staffordshire Slip Ware.

You can see the glaze on the interior and red slip on the exterior, with wonderful wiping marks left by the potter, and the characteristic fabric type.

It’s from the ledge rim of a plate, probably something like the sherd on the left in the image:

It has the characteristic Staffordshire buff fabric, with the usual inclusions, making it very identifiable. The fact that is comes from the area of the Guide Stoop, on the post-medieval path there, is perfect in terms of dating. I like it when it comes together like that!

Finally, we have this lovely thing – a ceramic toy marble, and a large one, too – 2.5cm in diameter. I wonder, does this qualify as a ‘dobber’?

It’s not glazed, and is slightly off being perfectly spherical, but is quite beautiful, and marbles are always welcome finds. This, too, came from the area around the guide stoop – it really is the area that keeps on giving!

Right then, that’s your lot for this post. I have a double whammy of somewhat speculative Anglo-Saxon based posts that need finishing off, and a whole pile more pottery ready to go (look, don’t moan… all this pottery is good for the mind, body, and soul). I’ve also got a new Where/When to explore and publish, and there are more Wanders planned for the new year. So lots more in 2025, but for now, enjoy the last hours of 2024, and, glass of the stuff that cheers in hand, here’s a health to you and yours.

But do look after yourselves, and each other. Christmas can be a difficult time for some people, so it’s always good to keep an eye on those around you, even if you don’t know them. Until next time, as ever, I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG

Etsy Shop · Where / When

Where/When No.4 (The Melandra Meander) and More

What ho, historical types, what ho!

So, the new Where/When ‘zine has just arrived, and just in time for Christmas! How has a year passed since I nervously unpacked Issue No.1, hoping that someone might buy it? I now have t-shirts available… but more about that in a moment. So then, Issue No.4: the lurid green cover was suggested by Master CG, so blame him for the migraines.

This one is subtitled The Melandra Meander, and, as you might have guessed, has a brief furtle around that most neglected of all Roman forts, Melandra. The Wander starts there, and then wends its probably weary way up the hill to The Hague, then up to St Michael and All Angel’s church, Mottram, and then down various trackways to Broadbottom, the viaduct, and on to Gamesleys old and new, and eventually back to the fort.

It does give a brief overview of the fort, but I think that really should be the subject of a Where/When special, as it is a hugely important site. It’s also slightly longer than previous Wanders, but it isn’t particularly difficult… although be warned it is incredibly muddy in places. You have been warned! It contains all the usual website shenanigans – history, a carefully planned wander, archaeology, psychedelically tinged photographs, bad jokes, pottery, a sense of ‘something or other’ and the obligatory snifter of the stuff that cheers… I mean, what’s not to love?

All four of the Where/Whens are now available to buy – I reordered some more of the long out of print No.1, as people have asked for it.

The price is £5 each – a mere snip to have my words droning on and on about old things ready at hand, any time day or night! They are available from the wonderful Dark Peak Books, High Street West, Glossop, or from this website (click here, you won’t regret it). Or simply drop me a line in the contact page, and I’ll get them to you ASAP. Or you could track me down, and make vague threats to me in order to get me to sign it – you won’t be the first (madness, I tell you!).

I’m also in the Glossop Chronicle, which is bizarre to say the least! Check it out here: https://online.flippingbook.com/view/781848889/10/

In other matters… I have set up an Etsy shop! This gives me a platform to sell my wares, which is amazing. At the moment it largely features A4 art prints taken from Where/When, on really good quality paper stock, perfect for framing and brightening up even the darkest of rooms (yes, Mr Shouty-Outy, I’m sure it would look good in your downstairs toilet… as always, I thank you for your input).

But also, crucially, we have some merchandise! If you fancy buying a 100% cotton t-shirt for Christmas, please feel free – I certainly won’t stop you! Now you too can recognise fellow Wanderers without having to resort to those tattoos that some of you have got. And now you too can look somewhat snazzy as you slither down a muddy bank whilst looking for pottery, or indeed simply spiffing as you tumble A over T down a ‘medieval trackway’ cursing me as you go (again, you won’t be the first).

Four slogans are available, and in a variety of colours:

‘What ho, Wanderer’

‘Wandering Where? Wandering When?’

Not Walking… Wandering’

Wander Definition

There’s also hoodies, and mugs! What’s not to love? And, of course, the ‘zine itself. And with much more in the pipeline.

Check the shop out here – DrTCG’s – you won’t regret it, and you’ll be helping me, too!

Righty, shameless self-promotion over with – I’ll have a proper December post ready in time for Christmas (probably involving pottery!). Until then, look after yourselves, and, as always, each other. And I remain, your humble servant,

TCG

Pubs · Simmondley · Stones of Glossop

Datestones – Part 2

What ho, you wonderful and slightly strange bunch, you.

A quick one today… I have had almost no spare time to do much more. I have just finished the new edition of Where/When (No.4, The Melandra Meander) – which has taken all my time – and I’ve just started a new job! Busy busy busy! But the Cabinet of Curiosities is a priority, and you, kind and gentle readers, are very important. Plus, if I don’t publish something on the website, angry crowds start to gather outside my house, chanting and making threats – I mean to say, one has to think of the neighbours.

So here we are – a second part to the Datestone post I wrote 3 years ago (three years? Where has the time gone?). I’ll spare the introduction as the original covers that, and just dive in to say that all of the datestones are pre-Victorian (before 1837) – I’d like to do a survey of the datestones of the Victorian and later periods, but there are so many that it would be a big task. If anyone fancies giving me a hand, though, give me a shout.

So then, first up is a correction. Hurstnook Farm has a stone that I drew through a pair of binoculars, as I couldn’t get close enough to photograph it. Well, they’ve been doing some work there recently, and me being me, I wandered over and asked if I could take a snap, and Lo! The result is below.

F.S.M.W, and the date of 1772. Lovely detailing, too – this is an expensive looking stone.

And a wonderful datestone it is, too. Different from my interpretation of it, and I still have no idea of the names; W is probably the family name – possibly a Wagstaff? I’m sure looking through some deeds would produce a name, though. Any thoughts, anyone? There is another datestone on the extension next door that reads 2010, but is designed to copy the original one, to fit in with the building.

Next up is #13 Padfield Main Road, Hadfield.

J.H.A 1826. Simple and effective.

A simple datestone, but I honestly love this one. And the colouring is effective.

Next up, Hadfield Hall – a truly wonderful building. I could study this place for hours, and often find myself marvelling at the structure, and all the phases of construction. Now is not the time for a detailed look at the hall – a future post, perhaps. Still, it has a cracking datestone above the door.

I(J).H. T.A. 1646

Lovely stuff. Hadfield family? I’d love to know more – any thoughts?

Just opposite Hadfield Hall is 7 Old Hall Square:

AD 1769

A simple date, rather than a chance at immortality.

Next we have 2 from Shaw, the farmstead that is first mentioned in 1285. It forms one of a number of such places dotted around Mouselow, and is a fascinating place. I suspect there is a lot of history here, and would love to have a poke around some of the properties there. If anyone reading this in Shaw fancies letting a slightly odd bloke have a rummage, so to speak, shout out!

First is Shaw Farm Barn

G.B. (D) M.B. (B), 1694

Not a great photo, but the inscription is correct. It’s on a whacking great lintel, which is very suggestive of an earlier, perhaps Tudor, door lintel that’s been re-used. Makes you think… And then, next door, is Shaw Farm:

I (or more properly J).P. 1751, in a rather fetching shield motif.

The names here again escape me – J.P. (the ‘J’ is rendered as an ‘I’ as was the custom).

Next up, the Hare and Hounds, Simmondley.

G.B.P. 1784

I actually know the meaning of those initials – George and Peggy Booth. Also in Simmondley, we have Dingle Cottage which sits on the old trackway from the farms over Whitley Nab way.

M.L.R. 1706

A truly fascinating building, and again, one in which I wish I could have a poke around!

Next is Hall Fold Farm, Old Glossop.

J.S.J.G. 1806

The datestone was apparently found buried whilst the farmhouse was being renovated. The image is not mine, but was taken from the always interesting (and essential if you like Glossop’s history) Old Glossop History Trail website. I want to take one of my own, but oddly people view Herberts taking photographs of their houses with a bit of suspicion!

Another Old Glossop datestone is unusual – this is built into the side of Hillside Cottage, down by Laneside Farm:

R.A.C. 1635, with a decorative saltire.

A few things to say about this one. Firstly, it is the second oldest datestone in the Glossop area, pushing Hob Hill Cottage in Whitfield into third place. Secondly, the decorative saltire might also function as a protective motif, as the shape is a fairly commonly found apotropaic mark. But the important thing is that it is not in its original position, above a doorway, and in fact the house it is built into is late Georgian or early Victorian. I can only assume that it replaced an earlier building, and rather than throw the lintel away, the builders thought they might as well build it into the fabric of the house as decoration. As for the initials – I have no idea.

Next up, and finally: Flax Cottage, Wesley Street, Old Glossop.

S.W.E. 1783, and a little flower motif.

The flower motif in Flax Cottage is very similar to that at Hurstnook Farm – possibly the same stonemason carved it 11 years later?

Ok, so that’s it for datestones. There are others in the area – a few in Charlesworth, Herod Farm, Hobroyd Farm, etc. – but I don’t have photographs yet. If anyone does, or if anyone knows of any others that I don’t know about, then please give me a shout.

In other news. As I say, Where/When No.4 is about to be printed – I sent it yesterday, so it will be here next week, fingers crossed. I’m super excited about this one, and it might be the best yet. I’ll post more soon, and with other news too. But until then, look after yourselves, and each other, and I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG

Archaeology · Pottery · Pottery Guide

The Rough Guide to Pottery Pt.10 – Black Glazed & Midland Purple Wares.

What ho, people! What ho!

I know, I know! Another instalment of the seemingly never-ending Rough Guide… it really is the gift that keeps on giving, isn’t it! I can see and hear the hubbub from here. The yelps of excitement, the whoops of joy, the screams of happiness… lots of these. And the exuberant dancing in the street. It even looks like people are running away from me… what fun! And oh look, that man over there has started drinking what looks like cheap vodka from a bottle, and is shaking his fist at me in a cheerful expression of his enthusiasm. Steady on, there’s a good chap…

So then, today’s offering is simply black pottery.

At most places you encounter pottery, you will find sherds with a black glaze on them. Of varying quality, and of various sizes and forms, there is always a background noise of them, as a wander through the archives of the site will show. It’s less common than the Blue and White stuff, but you will find it. Most often as a big sherd of a thick walled vessel – a chunky rim if you are lucky – but more often featureless body sherds that feel like they ought to be able to tell you something… but don’t. Mostly these are difficult to date; one black sherd looks very like another, and without having the whole vessel to look at, it can be futile to try – even I just mentally lump most of them together under the banner ‘Victorian’. And largely I’d be correct (as if you ever doubted me!). But… actually there are subtle differences that can give a little more information and provide a rough date.

The problem is that Black glazed pottery is just that. Pottery… with a glazed black surface. So you can see how assigning a date to it might be a tad difficult, and whilst there are some broad observations to be made, the finer points of interest are missed. It has taken me this long to fully wrap my head around it, and I think I have it straight, though even now it’s fuzzy in places. I don’t like ‘fuzzy’. I like things to be simple and logical and straightforward, with neat edges and exact dates. Today’s offering has none of that and is full of fuzzy, which frankly makes me feel a little uncomfortable (does anyone else feel that these little interludes are starting to sound like a therapy session? What do you mean “we know you’re a raving lunatic, get to the pottery”… honestly). No, they are a problem, and quite rightly most people shy away from them; I mean to say, these bally Herberts frighten me… I can only imagine what your normal non-sherd-nerd would make of them. No… by and large it’s safer to just leave them. Unless, of course, some lunatic tries to impose some form of order on it, and takes a trip to the dark side in order to investigate Black Glazed Pottery.

Well… cometh the hour, and cometh the lunatic.

The following is a rough outline of what, where, and when; it isn’t final, it can’t be applied as a law, and certainly not everywhere, and there are always exceptions, and always overlaps. Indeed, we can only speak here of a pottery making ‘tradition’ rather than clean-cut specific ware types, and people have been making pottery in a black-glazed tradition for over 500 years. But it will allow you to look at your black sherd and say “oooh, that’s probably a…”, which is sort of the point of this guide (no, Mr Shouty-Outy, despite what you think, the point of this site is not to attempt to be “the dullest thing on the internet“, thank you very much).

So, we start today somewhere in the 15th century, which is nice!

This is the first black glazed pottery type, and overtakes Tudor Green Ware as the pottery type found on early Post-Medieval sites up and down the country. It’s origins are unclear – as a tradition it is unlike anything that went before it, and was the technological and design cutting edge. It was originally thought of as being made in Cistercian monasteries in the north – hence the name – it is now known to have been made all over, most famously in Wrenthorpe (West Yorkshire) and Ticknall (Derbyshire).

Sherds of the whole…
Image stolen from St Albans Museum (and a damn fine museum and website it is indeed)

Characterised by a very thick all over (interior and exterior) iron rich glaze which produces a very dark brown or black surface when fired.

The glaze is shiny, but has a dullness to it – also very characteristic – and is often fairly poor quality, with pitting and an orange-peel surface, and is often sloppily applied, leading to melted blobs on bases, etc. – it’s still very much in the medieval way of doing things.

The bubbled glaze, melted in the heat of the kiln. Also on the base, you can make out the circular marks made when the Tyg was removed from the still spinning wheel with string. The straight lines might have been where the potter was testing how moist the clay was before putting it in the kiln, and it is something I have seen on other vessels of this period.

Very rarely, there is a pale cream decoration applied in slip, often in blobs or rough images of unicorns or other designs.

The fabric is also very characteristic. Very hard fired (almost vitrified), it is a purple, greyish-purple, or reddish/brownish purple colour. Looking closely at it, you can see voids formed by gases during firing, and very infrequent quartzite ‘sandy’ bits.

You can also see the thick glaze in the section.

Shapes are mostly drinking vessels – mugs, cups, and tygs (multi handled cups) – with a sprinkling of small jugs and bowls; the emphasis, though, is very much on the stuff that cheers! Handles are often small and delicate, and normally flat.

Taken from Lloyd Laing’s useful book Pottery in Britain 4000BC to AD1900 – very good on early stuff, not great on Post-Medieval… which is why I started the Rough Guide.

I am lucky enough to own a copy of a Tyg by potter John Hudson, an amazing craftsman who used traditional techniques to faithfully recreate medieval and post-medieval vessels:

Lovely stuff – its 3 handles make it a joy to hold. I have, on occasion, carefully sipped a snifter from its curiously shaped body.

The making of this ware type – with this specific fabric type and in these shapes – seems to have died off by the late 1500’s, but the black-glazed tradition continues.

This stuff continues the tradition of making pottery with a lustrous black glaze, but without the hard purple fabric. Instead, reddish, reddish-orange, or occasionally buff coloured fabrics are found, and overall it is fired to a lower temperature, making it less hard and more, well, coarseware-y. Often with a small number of quartzite – sandy – inclusions, but normally of a consistent colour throughout.

Fabrics! Multiple colours, and more inclusions than the Cistercian Ware.

The surface is normally much shinier than Cistercian Ware, but can also be found as a metallic looking surface, the result of adding lead in the form of Galena. Often there is an under-glaze slip that provides a red surface which, when covered in the glaze and fired, creates the black surface. This is particularly true in the case of the buff or whitish coloured fabrics such as that in the photo above.

With the light in the right place, you can really see the metallic sheen.

It has been suggested that this was a desired effect; in the poor candlelight of the 17th and 18th centuries it might look like it was made from more expensive pewter. This is a Skeuomorph, an object made from one type of material made to look like it is made from a different material; we’ve encountered it before in the Manganese Mottled Ware pottery. I’ve said it before, but don’t say we don’t learn you nuffink on this website!

Shapes include many of the same type you find with Cistercian Ware – mugs, tygs, jugs, etc. – although slightly more evolved – for example the mugs and tygs are noticeably taller. However, we now see larger bowls and jugs, too. Blackware becomes the utilitarian ware type, and thus it takes on many forms and uses.

To be honest, there is a deal of overlap between Cistercian Ware and Blackware, especially at the beginning, and it is not an exact science. Moreover, it is a good example of problems within post-medieval pottery studies: many different potters are making this stuff, in many different locations all over Britain – the black glaze was very popular, and so there was a ready market. But, 100’s of years later we have archaeologists digging this stuff up everywhere, and mudlarks/tiplarks/fieldlarks finding it all over. But there is no consensus as to what this stuff should be called! And why would there be? It is made everywhere, is found everywhere, and comes in so many different forms. In fact, I only call it Blackware because the last article I read called it that, and I like the name – it is helpfully vague in that it doesn’t rely on a geographical place (Ticknall Ware, for example), or a specific vessel shape (Pancheon Ware), to define it, but it is specific enough to describe what it is. See… fuzzy edges! I’m feeling very uncomfortable… I need a bracer!

The vast majority of the stuff you might find will be in the later part of the date bracket given above – late 17th/early 18th century. Indeed, by about 1720 the Blackware tradition starts to decline, although it probably continues until the end of the 18th century. Whiteware has become the pottery type – white is the new black, and all that – and we see that start of the quest for the perfect white surface that I have talked about before. To be fair, it was dying from the mid 1600’s onwards, with the introduction of the classic post-medieval pottery types – the Manganese Glazed and Slipwares.

Well, I say dying. Actually, and more specifically, the thin-walled vessel Blackware pottery tradition tails off, but it continues to be used on Pancheons.

A lovely word, for a great category of pottery – the mighty Pancheon – also described as mixing bowls, cream separators, or dairy bowls. Their purpose is multiple, as their name suggests, but it is their large size that is really impressive, as is the skill, detail, and indeed general lack of care with which they were made and decorated. Into this category we might also add large bowls, large dishes, chamber pots, and colanders. But the commonly encountered type, Pancheons, are generally steep sided open bowl shapes, with a height of up to 30cm, and a rim diameter of up to 60cm, or more. They are big pots, and consequently the sherds, are usually thick walled, ranging in width between 1 and 2cm, and are instantly recognisable.

A complete Pancheon – the word may have been a corruption of Puncheon, meaning a large container of liquid (and possibly the origin of the word punch, meaning a mixed drink).

Fabric is normally reddish or reddish brown.

Commonly, though, the fabric is poorly mixed with another cream or buff coloured clay, giving it a distinctly marbled effect.

Very clear marbling in this sherd.

Why this was done is unclear. If it was just a few examples of this happening, we might suggest that the potter was using up some spare clay he had lying around, but it is too commonly found. It can’t have been a decorative reason as no-one would see the fabric unless the pot was broken. I wonder if it was a practical concern, and that the buff clay had different thermal properties, perhaps allowing the vessel to shrink uniformly when drying or during firing? This might explain why it was poorly mixed into the fabric. But honestly… answers on a sherd to the usual address. My feeling, though I can’t be certain, is that this was more commonly found in earlier vessels, and that these mixed clays stopped being used in the 19th century.

Within the fabric are often found small inclusions – sometimes quartzite (sand), sometimes other small stones, and occasionally grog – crushed fragments of pottery. These too have the effect of improving shrinkage during, and strength after, firing.

Vessel rims are very distinctive – thick and chunky, and often square-ish in section, although other forms of rim – particularly those from shallow dishes – are flatter. Again I suspect, but can’t prove (yet) that these are early vessel types, and that by the 19th century the Pancheon takes on a single uniform shape which is made by potters all over the country.

Some Pancheons have handles, and often these are scooped lug type handles.

I love this – you can see thumb marks where it was pressed onto the body whilst wet. But also, you can see scuff marks above, where it was fixed properly and the potter accidentaly left an impression. Rough, and not over produced pottery like this, is so much more human.

Perhaps most distinctive is the black glazed surface. Because these vessels were normally only glazed on the interior, you will only find it on one side. As with the Blackware above, the dark colour was achieved by roughly painting a red slip on the interior and the rim, over which was applied a thick iron-rich glaze which, when fired, becomes the very dark brown or black we see. Sometimes this red slip was applied to the whole vessel, but even then any glaze or slip on the rim or exterior is the result of spillage.

Here you can clearly see the red slip over the orange fabric, and where the glaze has splashed has become black. Also, lovely lovely wiping marks, and is that a fingerprint? A person made those… 200 years ago! *shudder* This is why I do what I do!

That said, sometimes this spillage was a deliberate decorative feature, with the large exaggerated thick drips over the rim and down the outside giving it a certain devil-may-care look.

Lovely stuff!

This devil-may-care look also extends to the interior and exterior surface treatment of the vessels, where they also make use of ‘manufacturing’ marks as a form of decoration, thus you can see deep grooves and ridges on the interior and exterior where the clay has been pulled up on the wheel, and roughly made smoothing marks on the exterior.

Groovy! What? It made me smile…

Indeed, overall they seem to be very roughly made, with little attention to ‘perfection’ at a time when pottery was fast becoming quite literally an art form. I suspect that this is in part due to speed being the essence in making them, combined with the fact that they are entirely practical with very little attention paid to decoration. Even the fact that they are glazed on the interior only is suggestive of their practical nature – it’s quicker to glaze only one side, and it is cheaper, but it is also not necessary to glaze the exterior as only the interior needs to be waterproof. However, I also think there was a decorative element to the roughness – the exaggerated drips, the course smoothing, the noticeable finger and thumb marks in the wet clay and slip. I like this, it adds character and a human element.

Deliberate grooves on the interior and exterior of these vessels.

Now, whilst most sherds you will encounter are Black glazed, within the broad category of Pancheon Ware are sub-types, with different coloured exteriors – namely Brown, Yellow, and Pale Yellow/Cream.

A massive chunky rim sherd… from my back garden!

Actually, the colours depend on the amount of iron in the glaze and the colour of the surface underneath, but it is all the same process. It works like this: the more iron you add to a glaze, and the darker the surface under the glaze, the darker colour the pot will fire. And conversely, the less iron you add to the glaze, and the lighter the surface under the glaze, the lighter the finished pot will fire. So the Yellow glazed sherds often have a white slip and a glaze with little iron in it, and the Cream, too, but with a glaze that has even less iron added to it.

You can clearly make out the white under-glaze slip covering the naturally red clay where the glaze has peeled away. Ignore the writing, that’s a code I use in my reference collection (which is kept separate from the main ‘Pile o’ Pottery’) to tell me where it came from: BGW = Back Garden Wall.
Here we can see where the glaze has run over the white slip and onto the red fabric, producing the brown stripe. Now imagine if the fabric was a darker red, or had a red slip… it would produce a black glazed surface.

Brown has a darker coloured red fabric or a red slip, and an iron rich glaze, but not as iron rich as the Black glazed surfaces.

The truly wonderful Bingham Heritage Trails Association, who have done an amazing amount of work on post-medieval pottery (a very much recommended website full of pottery), have given them different names, and put them in a tentative chronological order, depending on fabric types and surface colour. This might work, but I’m not 100% convinced, and I think the differences maybe have more to do with desired colour, geographical origin of the clay, and our old friend fashion, than the date it was made. Essentially, any colour/surface treatment could have been made at any stage between 1650 – 1900… ish. I am always happy to be wrong, though – its the story of the pottery that matters.

The fact that Pancheon fragments crop up everywhere is both testament to their popularity – at one stage everyone seems to have had one – but also their large size; there’s simply more of it, so when they break up, they produce many more sherds than, for example, a smaller plate would.

Overall, it seems that Pancheons – and indeed all of these large domestic vessels – stop being made, or at least stop being popular, at around 1900 (although I’m sure many would still be in use from then on). Why is unclear, but it may simply be that the large clunky vessels were impractical in most kitchens, particularly in the cramped interior of terraced houses in the cities, and so they fell out of favour.

Our final black glazed pottery type is…

Not common at all (I only have one sherd!), Jackfield Ware is a refined earthernware that was popular for a short period in the late 18th century, and was focused on the consumption of tea and coffee, incredibly fashionable at that point in time. It reproduced all the essential elements of the black glazed tradition, but did so to an almost perfect finish. It is named after Jackfield in Shropshire, where it is known to be made, but the majority seems to have been made in Staffordshire. I have to say, this stuff is almost impossible to identify as a single sherd – it looks very like all the others, perhaps just a bit finer. If it wasn’t for the painted decoration on this example, I wouldn’t know I had any at all!

Fabric is red or a reddish brown, hard fired, with almost no inclusions – it is refined, and dense, and the vessels are thin walled.

The surface treatment is a uniform black glazed interior and exterior, with the glaze being particularly shiny – almost metallic – probably due to a high lead content. Honestly, you can see your reflection in this stuff. There is often sprigged decoration (a separately moulded clay three dimensional design stuck on the outside – often, in this case, floral designs – flowers, grapes, etc.), but commonly there are hand painted designs. These images were painted after the vessel was fired – over-glaze decoration – as contemporary under-glaze paint wouldn’t survive the firing process. As a consequence they often rubbed off, and exist as ghost-like images, especially in the kind of sherds that we find.

A flower design – I really like this. You can also see how it would wear away easily.

In terms of manufacturing, you can see the grooves where the potter pulled the clay up, but only on the interior wall where it wouldn’t be seen – this is fine pottery after all – whilst the exterior is super smooth, and is usually turned on a lathe to produce a perfect finish.

Shapes, as I say, are dominated by tea and coffee consumption, so commonly there are teapots, coffee pots, and cups.

Wonderful stuff! Stolen from this website, HERE

The cups are more like those we would recognise today in that they have only one handle, rather than the multiple handles of the tyg – a design development. This is the start of modern pottery… raise a toast with your next cup of tea!

And to end with, a broad description of Midlands Purple Ware, a slightly coarser version of the fabric that Cistercian Ware is made from.

Not commonly encountered to be fair (I only have a single, if large, sherd), but it is occasionally found in small quantities on early sites, and is part of a story. Midlands Purple straddles the period between the medieval and periods wonderfully, and takes elements of both.

My only sherd of Midland Purple Ware. Mind you, it’s a biggun!

Made in the same potteries and kilns as Cistercian Ware, and indeed the larger Midland Purple vessels were sometimes used as Saggars (a protective ‘box’ within a kiln) for the smaller and more delicate Cistercian Ware vessels. Thus we can be sure that the two ware types were contemporary, and Cistercian Ware seems to share the fabric type – that is, both ware types are made using the same clay, and fired at the same temperature, to produce a very similar type of fabric.

Purple, reddish purple, or greyish purple in colour, the fabric is hard fired, almost vitrified, with numerous voids, and has numerous quartzite inclusions, often with a black and white “salt and pepper” like colouring.

The surface is purplish, greyish purple or a browny purple, and is usually slipped, or simply smoothed, and smoothing marks are normally visible. The inclusions also poke though this slip, giving the surface a coarse feel. Rarely it is glazed on the interior, and these are normally found on butter pots, used to export butter into the big cities, notably London. A common shape is that of a jar with a reinforced bung hole just above the base, and these are often associated with domestic beer making, with the holes taking a spigot. Shapes include jars, butter pots, storage jars, jugs, pipkins, bowls, mugs… in fact a huge range of vessels, but the large jars and butter pots are the most common.

Midland Purple Ware shapes.

Traditionally, MPW is though of as dying out by the late 17th century, when it’s role as the hard-wearing utilitarian pottery type was probably overtaken by the aesthetically more pleasing Brown Stonewares.

So there we have it, Part 10. I’m pretty sure people who have spent long years studying one type of black glaze from a single pottery workshop are currently forming angry mobs, complete with lit torches and pitchforks, to seek me out, but I hope it helps.

The bad (good?) news is there’s only two more parts to the Rough Guide… Finewares and “Things That Might Be Pottery… But Aren’t”. The good (bad?) news is that I’m going to try and edit this guide into a Where/When Special booklet or zine, so that you can take it with you when you go Wandering. I know, I know… you can’t wait.

More very soon, as I have some big announcements! *Cough Wanders-a-plenty *Cough… and more.

Until then, please look after yourselves, and each other – just a quick check in with the neighbours, or even the person serving you in the shop, can make all the difference.

And I remain, your humble servant.

TCG

Archaeology · Pottery · Where / When

Updates: Cheese Town and Other Matters!

What ho, you wonderful – and slightly odd – folk who are reading this. You are here either because you have an interest in Glossop/Pottery/Old Things/The Ramblings of a Sherd-Nerd… or you’re lost. Either way, you might need some help. And either way, pour yourself a glass of the stuff that cheers, sit back and relax.

So then, we have a mixed bag today – some updates and some new stuff, and first up we have placenames.

WHITFIELD: THE PLACENAME

I originally published this post listing all the places in the Glossop area with their first appearance. Whitfield first appears in the Domesday Book of 1086 under the name Witfelt, which is normally understood to mean “White Field”, meaning an open (figuratively ‘white’) land or field, presumably to differentiate it from the surrounding moorland. However, I recently read an interesting article in Nomina: the journal of the Society for Name Studies in Britain and Ireland… as one does. The article is titled “Onomastic Uses of the Term “White“” by Carole Hough (read it here). Briefly, it suggests that amongst all the other possible meanings for the word ‘hwit‘ (White), one that is often overlooked is that relating to dairy foods and milk – literally ‘White Meat‘ – for which there is a lot of evidence, particularly when used in conjunction with a farm or land place name element. If we consider this in relation to Whitfield, we might understand it as the field where diary produce is made, and hence the Cheese Town of the title. We can’t say for certain, but it’s certainly a possibility that should be considered, for as we know cheesemaking was taking place here in the 18th century and earlier… so why not? Whitfield, land of cheese! Marvellous!

MASONS MARKS ON LONGDENDALE TRAIL

Back when I was a younger man (April 24th 2018, according to my records… 6 1/2 years ago!) I published an article on Mason’s Marks and Apotropaia on the stone infrastructure on the Longdendale Trail (read it here). Master CG was only just 2 years old then… and a lot can change in 6 1/2 years! Having recently got into riding his bike (!), off we went to the Longdendale Trail, giving me the opportunity to look for more marks… and Lo!

Here are the marks so far identified, to add to the corpus of mason’s marks along the line. The first are from Platt Street, the road bridge at the very start of the Longdendale Trail (What3Words is fortified.bracing.wage).

Photographed from my notebook… I just realised I should have rubbed out the pencil!

The second lot are from under a bridge that carries an apparently unnamed road leading from Padfield Main Road to Valehouse Farm (What3Words is leader.operated.courts).

V8 is also shown in the Platt Street marks. Some of these show up at other places along the line. Ooooh, I can’t wait to collate and analyse… I’m such a geek!

As you can see, some of these marks show up elsewhere on the track, suggesting that the same workers were shaping stone all the way from Broadbottom to Woodhead, which makes sense. Truly though, I need to survey the line properly, collecting the forms and locations, etc. I know I’ve said it before, but I honestly think a wonderful project could be made from these marks; recording and comparing them all along the line, researching who they might belong to, raising the profile of the men who physically built the line (not just those who financed it), as well as approaching it from an arts perspective. There’s lots to pick away at here, in fact… if anyone fancies joining me (or indeed, if anyone fancies funding/sponsoring me).

MYSTERY STONES ON THE GLOSSOP – MANCHESTER LINE

Talking of stones, a few years ago I published an article that looked at some odd stones I had noticed during the commute between Glossop and Manchester. Please read the article for more in-depth information, but essentially, 2 pairs of stones and a single example, all exactly the same shape and design, and all with the same single letter designs – ‘I’ and ‘G’. One pair on the platform at Guide Bridge station, and the single example just beyond the station, against a wall, and both of which I had photographs. And another pair just before one pulls into Hattersley station (coming from Glossop, on the right), which was in a ‘blink and you miss it’ position, and consequently of which I had no photograph.

The pair at Guide Bridge
The single post (possibly originally one of a pair) a little further on from Guide Bridge

And there the matter lay until the other day! Heading into Manchester, I noticed we seemed to be slowing down earlier than usual on the approach to Hattersley station, and having my phone in my hand, I tried to get a shot of the stones… and succeeded. Well, sort of… in a cruel twist of fate, young Master CG decided it would be an ‘hilarious’ jape to put sellotape over the cameral lens, and as a consequence the photograph looks like it was taken using a potato. Still, the jokes on him… I subsequently enrolled him in a special after-school long-distance running and extreme maths challenge club. That’ll teach him to mess with old TCG! Anyway, here’s the photograph:

Apologies for the poor quality, but the general area can be discerned.
The ‘G’ and ‘I’ can just be made out through the sellotape haze. I will keep trying to get a decent photograph.

So now we have photographic evidence of all of these mystery stones, which is great… but we still don’t know what they are! So, please, if anyone can suggest a meaning or purpose behind these “monogrammed mushrooms” as I have named them (patent pending), then in the name of great Jove, please let me know.

OOOOH… FLINT!

More stone… this a little older, though. Over the course of a number of years, I have picked up a few odds and ends of prehistoric flint from the Glossop area. The hills all around are full of these tiny fragments of a distant past – largely Mesolithic (Middle Stone Age, roughly 8000 – 4000 BC), with some that might be Bronze Age (roughly 2500 – 750 BC). But these three examples I have found much closer to Glossop itself, and always quite by accident. It is worth remembering that Glossop, the Peak District, and indeed most of the North West is not a flint area, and any flint found hereabouts has arrived either by glacial action, or it has been brought here by a human; so any flint you see pick it up! Honestly, flint and chert (a local, poorer quality, flint-like quartz) are both very distinctive against the local gritstone, and once you get your eye in, they stand out from some distance. I’m not a stone man, and whilst I can usually recognise flint that has been shaped deliberately, the finer points of dating I leave to people who know what they’re talking about. Here are the bits I have found:

This first came from a path just below Shire Hill, so might be Bronze Age.

Lovely stuff – a blade made from a chip of flint. You can see the ‘bulb of percussion’ – the bulbous bit at the top – where the blow was struck to break this chip off. When hit, flint acts as though it was liquid, and you can see the ‘waves’ made by the strike. You can also see the nibbling at the edges that suggest this blade was ‘retouched’, or sharpened after being used. Flint is very sharp (I have literal scars to prove it), but it is a fragile edge that needs work to maintain it.
The back side of the above flint piece – you can see where other pieces have been struck from this one, each creating a scar as the force travels along the core. It’s a fascinating subject flint knapping, and one that is not easily put into words… it has to be seen, and especially felt.

The next flake came from where the allotments are now at Dinting, sitting on a mole hill.
A chip off the old nodule! It’s been worked, but I’m not sure it was ever a tool.
Again, a crappy photo of a lovely flint tool. This time, a fragment of a thumbnail scraper – also here. Honestly, flint is better touched and seen in person, that’s why we archaeological types use drawing to illustrate flint… a photograph does not show what we want to see.

Whilst we know people were here in prehistory, its always nice to see the things they used in their everyday lives. I actually need to report these to the Find Liaison Officer (FLO) as this is prehistoric, and any information from this period, no matter how small, can potentially change our whole understanding of the history of the area. The FLO is the person to report anything interesting and potentially important you find (feel free to tell me as well, but honestly they are more important) – very helpful and genuinely the font of much knowledge.

POTTERY: SOME BITS AND PIECES

Never missing an opportunity to spread a little ceramic-based joy, I present to you a small selection of recently found pottery. Following my own newly introduced rules, I am only taking sherds that interest me, or which are good examples of the ware type. This means that there is more left for you wonderful folk to find, and more space in chez CG… much to the relief of Mrs CG.

First up, two very similar sherds.

Left has heavily crazed glaze, and I suspect it was burnt at some stage… that’s not normal ‘wear and tear’, even after being in the ground for 200 years or so.

Left is from High Lea Park in New Mills, and is the base to a mug or tankard some 8cm in diameter. The right was found on the track below Lean Town, and is the same in shape and dimension, although this is from the body somewhere, not the base. I got very excited both times I found these – they look like Scratch Blue stoneware, which would be very exciting. Alas, on closer inspection it’s clearly earthernware, and thus less exciting. Having said that, they are both from Industrial Slipware vessels, and both early 19th century in date – which is a bit rarer than the usual Late Victorian – and come from something like this:

Stolen, as always, without shame, from this website. Honestly, it’s a fascinating website filled with all sorts of historical pottery information from a collector’s perspective. I genuinely enjoy this site… which might be warning to some of you!

Sometimes, coming back from school with Master CG, we like to shake up what is in essence a somewhat linear journey from A to B by taking different routes; exploring, Wandering, and just seeing what we encounter along the way; blackberries, elastic bands, the occasional copper nail, a penny, holes in the ground to peer into, and if we are lucky a skip. There’s always something in either of those two latter.

Plain, but is still quite cool. I know, I know… but I can’t resist!

This was from a skip on Hadfield Place. Always, and I mean ALWAYS, look in a skip that has soil piled in it: Glossop’s history almost guarantees that there will be at least some Victorian sherds in that soil. Here we have a rim sherd from a late Victorian/early 20th century marmalade pot – something like this:

Stolen from this website… and you can buy it for £55.

The groove running around the pot, just below the rim, is to enable a piece of string to be tied around to keep the cloth lid in place… very characteristic.

Skips and holes… always have a look in both. This next sherd was from a utilities pipe trench on St Mary’s Road:

Lovely stuff. I think this might be fairly early

A lovely sherd of Industrial Slipware, again, this time of a Banded or Annular Ware type. It looks very modern as it is still made, particularly as Cornishware, but it is genuinely early to mid-Victorian in date, and probably from a large bowl or jug. Looking and feeling it again again, I think jug.

This last sherd is another Industrial Slipware – a tiny fragment of Variegated Ware, this one being in the ‘earthworm’ design:

Truly awful photograph. I know a bad workman blames his whassnames, but my new phone has no macro setting, so my up close photos are not great.

Probably from a jug or bowl, similar to the one in the above article, and dates to about 1800-1820. Interestingly, this one was found in a quarry that was used during the construction of Bottoms Reservoir, and was later used as a tip. Bottoms Reservoir was opened in 1877, and thus the tip can only have been used from, say, 1880 onwards, and actually, judging from what is found there, I think perhaps from 1900 onwards. This means that this sherd – and the pot it came from – was as much as 100 years old when it was broken and thrown away. This makes sense – I still have my great grandmother’s 1920’s salt-glazed stoneware pie dish (I use it to make a really nice tomato and white bean bake with a feta topping, if anyone fancies…) – and is a cautionary tale about using pottery to precisely date certain contexts. People in the past also had heirlooms, and all objects have a biography.

AND FINALLY… WHERE/WHEN 3

Well, Where/When no.3 is now on sale… and selling well. You good folk seem to like a walk, some history, and a pint… who knew? Well, I think we all did to be honest. You can get it in Dark Peak Books (93 High Street West in Glossop), or via the Cabinet of Curiosities shop (here). Or you could track me down and snag a copy.

For those of you who are unaware, Where/When is a quarterly journal of Archaeological Wanderings. Essentially, a walk in the Glossop area, with yours truly chiming in about the archaeology and history of where you are wandering; think a pinch of pottery, a hint of psychogeography, some groovy photographs, a dash of discovery, a toe stub of psychedelia, and a splash of the usual Glossop Curiosities shenanigans. No.3 Takes us on a walk from The Beehive in Whitfield to The Bulls Head in Old Glossop via medieval trackways, a Saxon stone cross, 18th century buildings, and a 10,000 year old glacial erratic boulder. Marvellous stuff!

A sneak preview of Where/When 4 – The Melandra Meander.

And Where/When No. 4 is in preparation; titled “The Melandra Meander“, it will detail a circular walk from Melandra Roman Fort to Mottram Church on the hill above – via Hague and medieval trackways – and then back again, and is full to the brim with the kinds of historical and archaeological goodies that you have come to expect. It’ll be in stores in December, just in time for Christmas.

I have a whole pile of ideas for Where/When, and the Cabinet of Curiosities in general… all kinds of stuff: t-shirts, anyone? Art prints? The Rough Guide to Pottery in booklet form? And in particular I’d like to start a series of monthly guided Wanders – where you and me can Wander together. Let me know what you think about this. Or indeed anything about the website, or what I have written. It’s nice to know I’m not just shouting into the void!

Right then, apologies for the late post of this article, and for generally being behind in most things – there’s often a lot less of old TCG to go around than I believe, so I end up dropping some of the things I’m juggling. More soon, I promise.

Until then, though, please do look after yourselves and each other, and remember – a person might look ok on the outside, but can be struggling inside. We all matter.

I remain, your humble servant,

RH

Archaeology · Pottery

Pottery!

What Ho!

Right… got to be quick! So much to do, so little time. Never mind the formalities… we’ll take them as read.

Family C-G went for a stroll the other day, around Shire Hill and Shelf Brook there. This gave me the opportunity for a little poke about… and O! What things I found!

I was poking about on the track that runs from the top of Shire Hill to the footbridge – here:

It’s an old track, coming from Pyegrove with its datestones of 1747 (although first recorded in 1631) where the track splits; left to (Old) Glossop, right – ours – up Shire Hill and down, linking it with Shepley Street/Doctor’s Gate. Interestingly, although it now curves to the right at the bottom by the brook, it’s obvious it originally went straight ahead and over the brook via a ford. The field on the left there preserves the original line of the track.

I know I bang on about these tracks a lot, but they really were the arteries of life in the medieval and post-medieval period, in fact right up until the late 1700’s and early 1800’s when our present road system was planned and laid out. These have a more organic feel about them; they grew out of necessity – rather than as drawn on a map and blasted into the landscape – and as a consequence they are often more direct, but also strangely quirky. And as everyone who moved through the landscape would have used these tracks, they can often be good places to poke around, to see what we can find. And lo! Here’s what I found.

Firstly, a selection of clay pipe stems:

Nothing too interesting here, to be honest. All have fairly narrow bores, and are thus probably all Victorian, and no maker’s marks. I have said before that these are essentially the Victorian equivalent of a cigarette butt – smoked a few times, then thrown away. Or perhaps dropped – the pipes are fragile, so they wouldn’t survive a fall. Always fun to find, though.

Next up fragments of what I think in the same pot.

Despite all being different thicknesses, they all seem to be from the same large stoneware open bowl or something, in what looks like a Bristol Glaze. The different thickness can be explained by where the sherd came from on the pot; vessel walls tend to get thicker as they move towards the base, and thinner the higher up they are towards the rim.

Next up, some more stoneware:

The sherd on the left is the top to a ‘blob top’ stoneware ginger beer bottle, something like this one:

Stolen, as always, without shame, this time from ebay. Buy the bottle here for $44 Australian Dollars.

At the right, there are a series of sherds from the same flat bottomed jug or jar or similar in a brown salt-glazed stoneware, possibly a late example of Nottinghamshire Stoneware, but difficult to tell.

The larger sherd in the middle is the shoulder of a bottle, perhaps similar to the ‘blob top’. On the inside, though, you can see the wiping marks created when the bottle was made by hand.

This is the human connection to the mass production of the Victorian period, the marks made by a person going about their working day.

Next up, we bounce into the 17th and early 18th century.

On the left, an open vessel in Slip Trailed Ware – probably a large, thin-walled bowl of some sort. On the right, is a Manganese Glazed cup or small bowl, with a carination in the body. ‘Carination’ is one of those terms archaeologists use that literally no one else uses, but it simply means a kink in the shape of the vessel that creates an angle, often at the shoulder. Both of these types are fully discussed in this article here.

Next, we have a large sherd of Manganese Glazed pottery, almost certainly from the lowest part of a large open bowl.

Again from the 17th/early 18th century, it is rather wonderful. Glazed on the interior only, the exterior is slipped:

You can see the red slip on the surface of the swirled cream/pink fabric – very typical of the period. You can also make out the wiping marks made during manufacture. This was a large bowl, and unusual.

Next up, we have this little lot, again of 17th or early 18th century date:

Left is another sherd of Manganese Glazed Ware. Centre is a sherd of Staffordshire Slipware, also covered in the above article. You can clearly make out the white under-glaze slip that gives it its characteristic yellow colour. At the right, however, is a sherd of Midlands Purple Ware… something that we’ve not encountered before. I have a ‘Rough Guide to Pottery’ post about this stuff almost written, so I’m not going to dwell on it here, but in short it is very hard pottery (fired at a high temperature) and slipped in a purple or reddish colour, and the surface/fabric has black and white – salt ‘n’ pepper – inclusions. It’s very distinctive… once you see/feel it, you’ll never forget it. It is an interesting type of pottery – it starts in the 15th century and continues until the early 18th century, and is associated with beer making, as well as butter and cream transportation.

Rather unusually, I also found this – a .303 rifle bullet, and probably fired from a Lee Enfield rifle.

I’m not sure how it ended up there – it’s a military round, but they were used on the rifle range just up the way ( I blogged about that here) – so perhaps it was an overshoot… worrying, given that it was on the path!

And finally, whilst Master CG was snorkelling in the brook (I wish I was kidding), I went poking about looking for glacial erratics, and found this little beauty of non-local geology.

I think its gneiss, an igneous stone, but I am an archaeologist, not a geologist (or indeed an architect. Nor a palaeontologist, so no, I don’t know anything about fossils, dinosaurs. Or ancient aliens. It’s amazing what people think you are when you say you are an archaeologist). Here is a handy little guide to the rocks of Britain produced by the Natural History Museum. Whatever it is, it isn’t the Millstone Grit and local Rough Rock that makes up the geology of the area, so it’s a visitor, and probably one that hitch-hiked in a glacier from the north, as we discussed here.

Right, that’s all for now. Apologies for the lateness of this post, I have been super busy – with many talks and walks, and many more in the pipeline. I’ll advertise some here, so that I can bore as many of you as possible! I have also just sent off Where/When 3 to the printers, so by the time you read this it should be available to buy from usual sources. More about that in a few days, but for now, look after yourselves and each other, and I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG

History · Pubs

George Booth’s Trousers*

*Not to mention Miss Harriet Hough’s Umbrella.

Yes, you did read that correctly.

What ho, you wonderful people, you! Well, here we all are. Make yourselves at home. Canape? Glass of something cheering? I can heartily recommend the red… cheeky, but hexagonal in the correct places, if you know what I mean. Right, take a seat and I’ll begin.

Today’s offering concerns a subject very dear to my heart. No, not pottery… I’m not completely one dimensional, you know. Nope, this article concerns pubs. And alcohol. And in particular the effects derived from the consumption of the latter. “What’s this?” I hear you cry… “a post about drunkenness? By a man with the sober reputation of good old TCG?” Hmmm… let’s move on.

So, I was reading through the diary of George Booth (discussed further here) the other day, and came across this absolute gem:

Thursday July 25th (1833) Last sunday afternoon [21st July] I went with Harriet Hough, our Mary, James & George Booth to Glossop Church. After service we went to Joshua Shepley’s at the Royal Oak and then returned by way of Bridge End Juncksion, Simondly and we did not forget to call at each place and to my own shame I was quite drunk. fell and broke Miss Hough`s Umbrella and tore my Trowsers.

I say!

So, what are we to make of that startling confession? We could judge Mr Booth harshly, but let’s face it, we’ve all been there (though I don’t recall ever having broken someone’s umbrella). Two things leap out of this entry. Firstly, there are the post-church snifters – seemingly many of them – in what was, for all intents and purposes, a pub crawl of Glossop that starts in the Royal Oak and ends at Bridge End (appropriately enough, where Wetherspoons is now). The amusement here is, I think, the result of a sincere and honest Georgian/Victorian gentleman, getting sozzled after church, staggering home, breaking an umbrella, and ripping his trousers. Quite how this happened I’d love to know (the ripping, not the drunkenness… I’m very aware of how that happens!), but the diary entry is somewhat lacking in details.

Secondly, there is the comment that they returned via “Bridge End Juncksion [junction]”, implying the meeting of a number of roads. My sherdy-sense tingled, and the question was asked: “is there a blog post here?” Well… here we are!

Ok then, let’s examine the route our man and his party took, firstly from the church to the Royal Oak. There are two ways he could have walked. Firstly, down Manor Park Road (then called Hall Street) and left down what was then Cowbrook Lane, but is now the A57/Sheffield Road, and along to the Royal Oak. This would have had a decent road surface on it now – the turnpike road – the Snake Pass – had been open for some 12 years at this point. But this would mean they would have to double back on themselves to get home. No, I think it would make sense to take the more direct, and almost certainly original, route, along the track from Hall Fold (passing the Glacial Erratic) and via Pyegrove, finally popping out at the pub on the road there. This was an established track, rather than the simple footpath it is now, and for many hundreds of years was used by man and beast to get from (Old) Glossop to Hurst, Jumble, and ultimately Whitfield – a not insignificant trackway to be honest. There was also a spur from this track to Mossy Lea farm, and joining Doctor’s Gate.

All Saint’s Church, Glossop circled in green at the top. The Royal Oak is circled in blue at the bottom. Hall Street (now Manor Park Road) is in orange, The Pyegrove track is in red, and continues beyond the Royal Oak to Hurst, etc. In pink, we see the spur – Woodcock Road – that goes to Mossy Lea and Doctor’s Gate.

The Royal Oak was constructed in or just before 1818 as a purpose built alehouse by the Joshua Shepley mentioned in the diary. It sits on the then new Snake Pass, and had stables and a blacksmith, as well as water trough. Shepley clearly knew he had a captive market – the first watering hole you come to after the Snake Pass, and the last as you leave Glossop for the road, meaning a last chance to water or shoe a horse, as well as a pint, too. As a building, it’s a wonderful example of the neo-classical late Georgia/Early Victorian ‘symmetrical with a central doorway’ style that was very common amongst purpose built pubs of the time. Actually, it’s a little off perfect symmetry, as indeed they all are, presumably to accommodate a larger room and a smaller one – here the larger is on the right – but let’s call them symmetrical. The porch covering the front door is a later addition.

I love this view – it really shows the looming presence of Shire Hill in the background. And honestly, Shire Hill looms… I actually find it quite an intimidating place.
Another view, the track from (Old) Glossop via Pyegrove comes out on the left
The trough at the front… full! The last time I saw this, it was bone dry. I always find it odd, and perhaps a little mystifying how the water table fills up, and how quickly following a decent amount of rain.

I feel that if Booth purposefully went there to see the place, and the man, he would certainly had more than a single drink; at least two is my guess, although potentially more. We’ll say two to be on the safe side.

So then, from here they would have wandered down Cowbrook Lane, and come across what would become the Commercial Inn on the corner there. But whilst the building – or an earlier incarnation – was standing there (a lease for the building was granted in 1828), it didn’t have an alehouse license at this point (that only came about in 1839). However, it might have had a simpler beerhouse license, as almost anyone could obtain a license to sell beer brewed on the premises if they paid a 2 guinea fee. One can imagine the sort of clientele this sort of establishment could attract – cheap and cheerful beer a plenty. I’m not 100% convinced our man Booth would have frequented a beer house, but I could be wrong – especially if he’s on the razz! So, benefit of the doubt, he bent his elbow at the Commercial, or what was there at the time.

The Sheffield Road side of The Commercial Inn, blocked up doorway visible front and centre. This is the door that George Booth and party would have entered on that fateful evening.
Close-up of the doorway.
A dark and rainy view of the Manor Park Road side of the pub, now the only way to get into the building. Again, the symmetry is obvious.
I’m not certain, but these two houses share all the same features – windows and doors, and symmetrical shape – as the pub they are joined to… they have to have been built at the same time, or at least soon after (actually, the stone size and shape is slightly different – look left where the join in the roof is. I wish I’d taken a closer photo now. But I’d still bet money that they were built by the same person, and within a year or two.

The current building is also of the ‘symmetrical’ style, although this example has the central doorway on both the turnpike road and on Manor Park Road (then Hall Street), which make good commercial sense, although the Sheffield Road doorway has been bricked up. I’ve said it before: objects (in this case a building) acquire a biography, and throughout their ‘lives’, like ours, they constantly change, and often carry the scars of their history. A bricked up doorway prompts so many questions, some of which are easily answered, others not so much. Was this an entrance to a separate room? The Smoking Room? Taproom? Lounge? Vault? Or was it an entrance to the private quarters?

Onwards and upwards. From here, the next establishment he might have come across is the Mechanic’s Arms at 99 High Street East. Built in 1831 by Jordan Hampson, who is listed as a beer seller in the 1841 census, and who would have been the landlord in 1833. The building ceased to be a pub in 1933 because of its “structural unsuitability”, and the building was demolished in 1971. Regency Court now stands in its place.

Not a lot to say here! Somewhere in the middle of this photo stood the Mechanic’s Arms.

So we might assume an eyeball straightener here, then.

Next up and a little further down we have The Peartree Inn. Built in 1818, it was originally known as the Kings Arms.

Once you notice it, you can clearly see it was once a pub – symmetrical windows with a central door. Although, there is another bricked up door on the left, again perhaps the entrance to a separate room.
The bricked up doorway up close.
What was originally – I presume – the main entrance to the pub, and through George Booth and his party would have passed.
And, o’ happy day, a bench mark! For those of you who don’t know, these were carved onto buildings to mark a specific measure height above sea level in the 1840’s and onwards. I love these things – the horizontal line marks the exact point, and the arrow below shows you where. This is exactly 504ft 7″ above sea level. Man, I love a bench mark! Check out this blog article, and many more like it in the archive.

It was here that in 1830 that the officers of a detachment of the 10th Hussars and 4th Regiment of Foot were stationed, being given the task of putting down a potential riot of spinners who were demonstrating in favour of a standard rate of pay. In 1832 it would have been owned by a John Woolley, himself an old soldier. We might safely assume they took one drink in the Peartree, although the chance of a chat with an old soldier… let’s say 2. It is a Grade ii listed building, with the official listing thus:

House, now offices and attached wall. Early C19 with late C19 and C20 additions. Coursed millstone grit with tooled dressings and stone slate roof. 2 stone end stacks. EXTERIOR: 2 storey and attic. Street front rendered. Almost symmetrical 2 window range. Off-centre doorway with C20 door in flush ashlar surround flanked by single plain sashes, above 2 plain sashes, all in flush ashlar surrounds. Left return has blocked tall opening at first floor level and above single plain sash. Right return has ground floor with elongated C20 window opening. Rear has C19 parallel extension with end stack. INTERIOR: not inspected. SUBSIDIARY FEATURES: adjoining wall to left has doorway in flush ashlar surround with plank door.

The Peartree ceased being a pub in 1926, and is now the offices of Glossop Tyres – make sure you check out the building the next time you are getting new tyres.

Swaying slightly (we’ve all been there) they would have set off – it’s thirsty work, all this walking… Next up, the Howard Arms, for at least one.

Howard Arms, Ellison Street in the foreground. Again, like the Peartree, it was originally symmetrical, with the door central between the two ground floor windows. It was bricked up when the pub expanded into the building next door sometime after the 1930’s. That is the one George Booth and party would have used.
A view of the Howard Arms in 1904, central door still in situ. The person in the doorway is likely to be the wife of John Green Hudson, landlord at that time. Image from the always excellent Glossop Victorian Architectural History site – HERE. Well worth a browse as it is full of old images, and catalogues our extensive and important Victorian heritage…. it really is an important website.
As it is now, and after the windows were widened – still 3 light, only wider.

Named after the Howard family, the Dukes of Norfolk, it was built in 1800. It is superbly situated for passing trade, being at the crossroads of the old Woodhead Road (now Ellison Street) and the turnpike road running east-west, later expanded into the Snake Pass. Indeed, the trustees of this road building committee held their first planning meeting here, on 4 June 1818, and celebrated its opening four years later with a slap-up meal in the pub. A very nice establishment (possibly), I feel certain that more than one was consumed here. For one, he was already 6 drinks into this adventure, and at this point, the genie is hard to push back into the bottle, and trouser-ripping and umbrella-breaking are all but inevitable. But I also get the impression that he is having a good time, despite the shame he felt the next day, and the diary makes it very clear “we did not forget to call at each place“.

From here, the party would have headed further down, and into the Norfolk Arms. Built in 1823, there is quite a bit that can be said about the pub, but I feel here is not the place – this is Mr Booth’s time to shine – so I’ll keep it brief. Built in 1823 as part of the monumental shakeup of this area, and the creation of Howard Town, The Norfolk Arms has been much altered and expanded over the years, especially in the late 19th century, but at its core it is another example of that neo-classical ‘symmetrical with a central door’ that define so many purpose built pubs of the late Georgian/Early Victorian period (the front porch is a later addition).

Apologies – this shot is taken from Google Maps’ Streetview. I took several photos of the building, from several different angles… but for some reason, none of them came out ok. Odd, but there you go. I’ll update the photos later, but for now I just want to get the article out there! You can see the central, ‘symmetrical’ building, with the later wings added.
Oddly, this is the only photograph that worked properly! The bench mark on the south-eastern corner of the building marking 497ft, 1″ above sea level.

It is also slightly grander than many of the other examples – larger and more formal, it was also used as the town’s post office in the 19th century, as well as the coaching inn, where stage coaches between Sheffield and Manchester would stop. The Norfolk Arms is a Grade ii listed building, with the official listing reading thus:

Coaching Inn, now public house. 1823, altered late C19 and C20. Coursed millstone grit with ashlar dressings and hipped Welsh slate roofs. 4 ridge stacks and 3 wall stone stacks plus 2 louvred vents to left.
PLAN: double-depth.
EXTERIOR: 2 storey. High Street front has 7 windows arranged 2:3:2. Slightly projecting 3 window centre has central stone, flat roofed single storey porch with blocking course, plain square columns and C20 margin light glazing. Flanked by single plain horned sashes, above 3 similar windows. Wings have 2 similar sashes to each floor. All windows have painted ashlar lintels and sills. Left return has doorway in flush ashlar surround with overlight and to left single small then 2 large casement windows, above 3 plain horned sashes. Right return to Norfolk Street has central doorway under single storey flat roof porch with dentilled cornice supported on square Tuscan Doric columns, moulded round arches with moulded imposts and stressed keystones. To left single plain horned sash and to right large former shop window with former doorway to left and 3 round headed lights to right within plain pilaster surround with moulded fascia board. Above 3 plain horned sashes and small inserted casement window.

And it’s difficult to argue with that! The landlord in 1833 was a Joseph Oates, and I think they had single drink in here, as they decide to call it a night and head home.

The diary states that they went via “Bridge End“, which means they would have crossed what was then a new bridge, but not yet Victoria Bridge. This whole area was in flux at that time, with new road layouts and buildings going up, and it may well have resembled a building site. However, there was one shining beacon on this dark and lonely road out of Glossop, one place of refuge and light. And beer; The Albion Hotel (also known as The Trap, The Last Orders, and now The Brook Tavern), which in 1833 was brand new, being built the previous year. Maybe just one more…

The Brook Tavern as it is now, originally The Albion. The porch is a later addition, but would have originally been like our other pubs so far, symmetrical with a central door.

Set back from the modern road now because it sat on the original line of the road and bridge (and lines up with Smithy Fold and Ellison Street), it would have been a magnet for the party – to celebrate crossing the bridge, and one for the road. The last. No more… “Ah, go on then, let’s have another…” The landlord at the time would have been a Charles Calvert, who by this point would probably have been glad to see them go!

The original line of the road can be seen by looking along the shop fronts here – they pinpoint the site of the original bridge, and Ellison Street beyond. The new road curves more to the west, over Victoria Bridge.

And so, singing hymns – and other, less saintly songs – our party staggers into the night, and into infamy. Blimey… 11 drinks! Not bad for a Sunday session, and certainly more than I could do anymore. The ‘pub crawl’ is a brilliant piece of social history, a glimpse into the personal life of a person whose public life was probably very different, possibly very austere and proper – so the idea of him getting squiffy on a Sunday is amazing if, as he notes, shameful, as the sobering up starts, and he fits back into his public persona.

Now, here is also something of a question mark. His diary records that they went via “Bridge End Juncksion, Simondly“, but that is an odd way of putting it. Bridge End is Victoria Bridge, but it is not in Simmondley. Whitfield or Glossop, depending on which side you are standing (I get the feeling Bridge End proper is on the Glossop side of the brook), certainly, but not Simmondley – that’s over the water of Long Clough Brook. There is Bridge Field, which is just in Simmondley, but it is much further away. No, I suspect he may simply be confused: a bridge over water from Glossop… that’s Simmondley. Plus, he’s a Chisworth/Charlesworth man out of his territory, he may not have understood the finer points of local geography. And let’s not forget he was also somewhat impaired, mentally, by the time he arrived there!

So then, the ‘Juncksion’? A junction, or a meeting of roads. But from where? This is where Glossop’s history gets murky… and interesting. It is a dispersed settlement, with farmsteads all over, all of which feed into the centre – Old Glossop. Because of this, trackways spread spiderweb-like all over, connecting all of these places and people. A crossing point like Victoria Bridge – or rather the bridges that were there before – were naturally targets, focal points attracting all the tracks, as ways to cross Glossop Brook, would not have been common. Here on the map is shown the tracks. It should be stated that not all would have been in use simultaneously, they would have been introduced as needed; a new farmhouse built, perhaps means new tracks are made – but all heading for the single focus of the crossing point, the bridge.

The tracks that meet at Victoria Bridge. Pink: Victoria Bridge, Red: from Ashes, Green: from Simmondley (the main Simmondley to Glossop track, and which becomes Bank Street [The Bonk], Blue: from Whitfield, Yellow: the track to (Old) Glossop, Dark Green: the track to The Heath, and on to Padfield, but also Woodhead, and ultimately Yorkshire. A Juncksion indeed.

This article owes a huge debt to the book History in a Pint pot by David Field – a brilliantly detailed look at all of Glossop’s pubs, past and present, now sadly out of print and ridiculously difficult to get hold of. The library has a copy, so go there and read it. I’d also like to thank George Booth, especially as this is the second article inspired by his diary. I also feel slightly bad about lampooning him, however good natured it might be; after all, the shame he felt at being drunk was real enough to write about it in his personal diary. By way of an apology, I might raise a glass of the stuff that cheers his way tonight… although I’m not sure he’d approve.

However, I’m genuinely half tempted to recreate this monumental pub crawl – starting at the Royal Oak, and finishing in the Brook Tavern… and celebrate the end by tearing a pair of trousers and breaking an umbrella? Who’s with me? 21st of July this year is, coincidentally, a Sunday, but I feel that we live in less civilised times, and those of us who work will not appreciate waking up Monday morning. We could do it the day before – Saturday 20th. Just a thought… let me know what you think.

In other news, Where / When issue 2 is selling like hot cakes, which is great as it means that I can publish Where / When 3 relatively quickly. I also have some archaeological/historical walks planned for the summer – essentially me doing a Where / When live, with a bunch of you, if you fancy. And perhaps incorporating the inaugural George Booth Historical Stagger? But honestly, watch this space as lots is being planned…

Until the next time then, good people of Glossop – and beyond – please look after yourselves and each other.

And I remain, your humble servant.

TCG

Archaeology · Where / When

Where/When #2 (and other news)

What ho, what ho, and indeed… what ho!

A quick one now, just to spread some news. A bigger article is in the offing, honest.

So, the big news is that the second edition of the archaeological Wandering zine Where/When is now at the printers, and promises to be with us sometime next week. Fingers crossed.

As you can see, it’s blue. Not that that makes much of difference to anything, as it’s chock full of the usual noodlings and doodlings, history and archaeology colliding with my, er… ‘unique voice’, as it has been described – in a psychedelic swirl of colour and trackways.

This one describes the route between The Bull’s Head in Old Glossop and The Beehive in Whitfield, using – where possible – the medieval and post-medieval trackways, often preserved in surprising ways. Along the way we encounter all manner of archaeology and history, a ghost, a hall, two 1960’s housing estates, a team of oxen, a well, and a Roman road.

It’ll be available to buy from Dark Peak Books and George Street Books for the very reasonable price of £5. Or you can track me down and buy one. It will also be available to download as a PDF from the Where/When page at the top of the site (for the price of a glass of the stuff that cheers, via my Ko-Fi page (and do feel free to buy me a glass anytime!).

This second volume is actually the first of a two-parter, the next volume being the return journey from The Beehive to The Bulls Head, using entirely different tracks, and exploring entirely different archaeology. This is titled, naturally, ‘Of Hives and Heads‘, and will be available very soon – watch this space.

The other big news is I’m doing a talk for the George Street Community Bookshop – one of their Curiosity Club events. It on Thursday 25th April at 7pm at Bradbury Community House, on Market Street in Glossop. The subject is the vague sounding ‘Archaeological Wanderings‘, which is just how I like it – expect old stuff; medieval trackways, Wanders, flint, idle talk of wondrous things, pottery, Romans, and possibly some Anglo Saxon crosses thrown in. A psychedelically-tinged swirl to the thrum of history, if you will. Or if you prefer (and why wouldn’t you), I’ll be talking about the history of the Glossop area to a group of people who may or may not be interested.

But do come along, it’ll be a blast, and you’ll get the opportunity to ask me all sorts of awkward questions. No, not you, Mr Shouty Outy… you are barred. You can book a place here, on eventbrite – tickets are priced as you wish, and it’ll be good to see any of the seven of you who read the site (sorry Juan, unless you can fly out from Caracas on Tuesday, you’ll miss it. Lo siento amigo, ¿la próxima vez quizás?).

Right. I have a proper article almost written – obviously pottery related – that I need to finish, so forgive me for rushing off… I’ll be back soon, I promise.

Until then, take care of yourselves, and each other, and I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG

Archaeology · History

A Box o’ Bits

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).

What wonders lie within?

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.

Honestly, who can’t be excited by this.

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.

Interesting stuff, and a good example.

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!

A tiny boot!
Yep… it’s 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.

Really good condition.

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

Modern versions, stolen from here

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 mean… honestly!

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.

Less or more creepy?

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:

I love this.

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

Oddities · Stones of Glossop · Waterways of Glossop

Brrrrr… Glossop’s Ice Age History

What ho, wonderful denizens of the blog reading world! How are we all? Well this is something of a to-do… what? Two posts in February? Truly I am spoiling you. Well, it’s about time I picked up the pace a little! I actually had a choice of about 4 half finished articles that I was going to go with, and I actually started working on all of them at some point in the last few weeks before I plumped for this one. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

So, I recently discovered the glacial erratic on Pyegrove Park. Now, I should clarify… I didn’t actually ‘discover’ it – lots of people already knew it was there, and in fact I already knew it was there, it’s just that I’d never been able to find it. But the discovery got me thinking: this blog is about archaeology, that is the study of humans and their history through the physical remains they left behind. And yet where we are, and how we live, and indeed how we have lived, has been dictated to us through the landscape, and our place within this. In short, there would be no Glossop without Longdendale, and there would be no Longdendale without the glaciers. So wrap up well, people… we’re off the the ice age.

Ok, so some background, and not being a geologist I really had to put in the homework here, so you’d best appreciate it! Honestly, my brain only has so much space in it: I once learned to ice skate and forgot how to use a knife and fork. What follows then is the ‘back of a fag packet’ version of the last period of glaciation (and before we move on, I must give a massive shout out to a superb website which really helped iron out some of the trickier bits – AntarcticGlacier.org – fascinating, well written, and aimed at non-specialists… well worth checking out if any of this interests you even in the slightest).

So then, there are three distinct periods of glaciation (that is, the process of glaciers forming and moving) within Britain – the Anglian (roughly 478,000 to 424,000 years before present [BP]), the Wolstonian (300,000 to 130,000 BP), and the Devensian (roughly 27,000 to 11,000 BP). Leaving aside the first two, lets focus on the last – the Devensian (also known as the Last Glacial Maximum), as this one was the only one that would have had anatomically modern humans living through it.

At this point, roughly 2/3 of Britain and Ireland, including all of Scotland and Ireland, most of Wales, and the north of England was covered by what is known as the British Irish Ice Sheet. Starting in the Arctic, as the land cooled this glacier moved further south until it reached a limit at about 27,000 BP, at which point the cllimate began to warm, and it slowly began to retreat, and was gone by 11,000 BP. The effect that this moving back and forth had on the land was catastrophic – carving out valleys (think the glens of Scotland, the Lake District, and even our own Peaks), and forever altering the land.

An awesome image of the extent of the Devensian Glaciation at its maximum. I make no claim to this image – it is all the work of Andy Emery at AntarcticGlaciers.org – I merely pinched it… this time with a little shame!

Now, here’s where it gets more interesting… and complicated. There are no definitive models, but it seems that Longdendale was at the southern/south-western edge of the Devensian ice sheet – the literal edge of the glacier in the last ice age. This might explain why the Peak District is, well… ‘peaky’, but the land to the west and south-west isn’t; Longdendale is the last valley before the land smooths out towards Manchester and Cheshire. Indeed, if you look at the above map and think about the landscape to the south and east beyond the edge of the ice sheet, whilst it can certainly be hilly, there are no peaks and steep valleys.

Of course, that’s not to say that the glaciers didn’t affect the land beyond that edge – already frozen solid and all but inhabitable, once the glaciers began to melt, the water had to go somewhere. There is some evidence for what are termed ‘glacial lakes’, huge bodies of meltwater, beneath or adjacent to the glacial edges. There seems to have been one covering the whole of Glossop as it is now – the landscape here being suitably bowl shaped – and which was perhaps dammed at the Mottram end with ice and clay. Not going to lie to you, folks, that honestly makes me feel… weird and terrified. Indeed, originally the Etherow ran to the west of here, toward Manchester, but was forced to change it’s course due to sand, gravel, and ice blocking the original route. And to give an idea of the power that such a lake bursting, one such steam blasted out the gorge (actually, a natural geological fault line) at Broadbottom which the viaduct now has to cross.

But the glaciers also gave another gift. As they moved up and down (and indeed round – there is evidence that it wasn’t a straight-forward linear motion), they picked up bits of geology – random stones and chipped-off bits of mountain. These they occasionally dropped as they went along in the form of what we know as ‘glacial erratics’ – defined by AntarcticGlaciers as “a far-travelled stone of a different lithology (stone type) to the local bedrock“. Now, the Glossop area has four of these that are known about (but there are a lot of odd looking stones dotted about that to my eyes look like they are erratics, but as I say, not being a geologist, I don’t know). If anyone has a geological speciality, or has any thought about the types of stone these are, and thus perhaps their origin, then please get in contact. The first of these is the one I have already mentioned at Pyegrove, here:

Roughly where the big red arrow is.
Turns out the big red arrow is visible on the ground, too!

Lurking in the bushes, it hides its history well.

Using What3Words, it is located at easygoing.harmonica.ramming. Now, I’m not sure what to make of that!

Now, other than it being non-local, and shaped rather like a large pebble (due to the grinding and rolling movement via glacier), I know nothing about it, geologically speaking. It’s coarse, with a sandstone-like structure, but not quite like any local stone I know of.

Close-up of the ‘fabric’ of the stone. It seems to be a type of rough sandstone – almost, but not quite like Millstone Grit.

I assume that it comes from geology further north than here, but where? Lake District? Scotland? Norway? Was this where it was dropped? Or has it been found in a field and moved? Possibly the latter, as it is on the field edge, and marks the track between Pyegrove House (and Hurst, etc.) and Glossop, now simply an overgrown hollow path at the edge of the field, but once an important route from Jumble, Hurst and Pyegrove to Glossop.

The sunken trackway – or holloway – worn by years of use.

Of course, it may be that the field boundary used the erratic as a reference point, and thus the track, but I still think it’s likely that it has been moved.

The next erratic is to be found in Howard Park, here to be precise:

Here, right in front of what was Wood’s Hospital, now Reuben’s Retreat. What3Words is overpaid.courier.recover.
Lovely stuff. Also, looks like it has a moustache!

So, it’s a very similar stone to the Pyegrove example, possibly even from the same source. Here, in the close-up:

Not a million miles from the Pyegrove example.

The rock also shows very clearly the marks of being crushed and scraped along other rocks by the glacier.

Linear striations show how it was scraped along a surface… imagine the forces involved in this.
Also much banged around – again, massive forces involved in this.

This one has certainly been moved, but from where?

Our last two erratics are to be found in the grounds of the old Grammar School and library building, here, to be precise:

Against the wall of Fitzalan Street, and at earlobes.tutorial.daytime using What3Words… you couldn’t make these addresses up!
Here they are in context.
Smoother than the others, but again not local in origin.

Here it is is close-up:

Very much smoother.
Very different from all the others, this one has quartzite in it, producing a much more jagged rock.

Here it is in close-up:

Very odd geology – a rough rock with striations of quartzite… probably quite unremarkable to a geologist! Possibly related somehow to Shap Granite which has similarities. I think.

They even have a plaque helpfully explaining where they were found, and potentially where they originated.

Shelf Brook… well worth checking out, apparently!

As the climate began to warm up, the land began to come back to life – this was the start of the Holocene period, the modern human world. Trees, shrubs, and plants started to grow, and these are soon followed by the animals that eat them. And following them, hunting and gathering, people. By probably 8000BC, at certainly by 7000BC, people were passing through the Glossop area following game in small bands, and moving between seasonal hunting camps. Their movement through the area may have been part of a cycle of many years, and many hundreds of miles from place to place, stopping for a period of months – summer in the higher ground, winter in the warmer valleys – meeting other groups in specific locations, trading resources and marriage partners, and moving on again, through a landscape that was marked only by natural monuments. The Mesolithic (Middle Stone Age, c. 8000 – 4000 BC) is a fascinating period, but we know so little of their daily lives. Indeed our only clues to their existence hereabouts are the flint tools they made and used, and which are quite commonly found in the hills around Glossop.

Some lovely Mesolithic flint bits. Left, a small scraper; middle, a core from which tiny blades (microliths) were chipped or knapped; and right a notched blade which are common in the Mesolithic, but which no one seems to know what they were used for. My guess would be to scrape down arrow shafts. To be honest, flint tools are like Swiss Army Knives – multiple uses in multiple ways.

I’m also going to use this article to put to bed a story I’ve heard from several sources over the years – that Coombes Edge is a caldera – the blown out remains of a long dead Volcano. Essentially, a smallish volcano erupted, and blew out the north-western side, spewing it’s contents over towards Hyde. This is not the case, and the unusual land formation is the result of a huge landslip caused by under soil water movement, and which occurred sometime between 10,000 and 7,000 BP – so somewhere in the Mesolithich period. One wonders if the landslip was noticed by anyone, either as they were nearby, or after they came back into the area and found the huge landslide. And I wonder what they thought of it.

Also, I wonder if we have a look in Shelf Brook, but other streams around here, we might find some more glacial erratics, large and small. Who’s with me?

Right, I’m off to light the fire… and pour a glass of the stuff that warms.

In other news.

There will definitely be a guided archaeological & historical (hysterical?) walk in the next month or so, so watch this and other spaces for news. This will probably be just before the new edition of the Where/When zine – No.2 – comes out. I have decided to aim for 3 zines a year – December, April, and August, but I want to be flexible on this… my life is hectic enough as it is! I’ve also got some ideas for some special editions, but that’s far in the future. In the meantime, who wouldn’t want a Where/When t-shirt with the slogan “What ho, Wanderer!” on it? Just a thought!

As usual, keep in touch, even if it’s just to tell me I’m talking out of my hat. So until next time, look after yourselves and each other, and I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG