Vikings? In Simmondley? Hwaet? (Dark Age Glossop Part 1)

January 26, 2025 Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

What ho, people, what ho! I hope you are all well and are suitably recovered after the Christmas season?

A word heavy – and pottery light – blog post today (those of you cheering at the back… don’t think I can’t hear you). It’s also a little speculative, too. Archaeology, and indeed history, rely on interpretation, and how we understand and use the evidence presented to us affects the story we tell. We don’t always have all the answers, and we do make mistakes, but speculation is essential, so let’s imagine… today’s story is of Anglo-Saxon Glossop, so buckle up!

Now, I love a good placename or two. Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll say “Oh yes, old TCG loves a good placename or two. He really loves them”. And then they’ll give a look. That look. I’ve never worked out what it means, that look, but shortly after the person who asked will give a nod of recognition, and say something along the lines of “… oh! I see!” And then both will turn to me, cock their heads and smile kindly, and give me an entirely different look, one of benevolence and calmness, that seems to say “awww, bless you“. Worryingly, I often get the same look from Mrs CG and Master CG. Anyway, moving swiftly on.

So then, Glossop in the Anglo-Saxon period; the Dark Ages, so-called due to the lack of historical knowledge. This is, truthfully, something of a misnomer, and our understanding of the turbulent period of 600 years between the Romans ‘leaving’ (410AD) and the Norman Invasion (1066) is becoming clearer all the time… mostly. For our own area, though, it is still by and large a black hole of historical detail. We know something was here during this time – we have Roman (certainly early Roman), and it’s highly unlikely that the military abandonment of Melandra (probably later 2nd century AD) meant that everyone left the area, especially given the location at the head of the Longdendale Valley. The Domesday survey of 1086AD lists 10 villages hereabouts, so there is definitely something here 600 years later that didn’t just spring into being overnight.

Phil Sidebottom has recently written an excellent book called ‘Pecsaetna‘ (and do feel free to order from our marvellous local bookstore – Dark Peak Books) which looks at the Anglo-Saxon tribal grouping that lived in this area – the Pecsaetna, or ‘Peak Sitters’ – of which we Glossopians should rightfully be proud to be a member of. It doesn’t cover Glossop as such – we are very much on the periphery of what was already a backwoods – but it is a great read for anyone who is interested in what was going on in the Peak District during this period. But the fact of the matter is that there is very little archaeology to be found relating to these 600 or so years; to be precise: 3 stone crosses (the 10th century Mercian Round Shafts – Whitfield Cross and Robin Hood’s Picking Rods), and placenames. That’s it. We don’t even have any pottery to look at, as it seems that in this area people were largely a-ceramic – that is, they simply didn’t use pottery. Imagine, a world without pottery… now that’s a sobering thought.

Some of the placenames in the area I have covered before (the main Domesday ones, for example), but some others I haven’t, and in particular, Mottram (in Longdendale), I find particularly interesting. It is probably derived from (ge)mot (a meeting or assembly) and either ‘treum‘ (tree or cross) or ‘trum‘ (a place or space). Either way, it is almost certain it describes a place where meetings took place, marked possibly by a tree or a cross. These meeting places – or ‘moots’ – have been described as the “cornerstone of Anglo-Saxon governance”, in that various Anglo-Saxon statutes dictated that these councils met publicly every four weeks at these moots to discuss local matters – think of them as local councils and magistrates. They are important places, often marked by a prominent feature – often a cross or a tree – and were in an elevated position – a hill, or lower slope, overlooking much of the land. The one at Mottram fits the bill perfectly, and it was possibly the extreme north eastern moot place of the pre-conquest Hamestan Hundred, right on the border of the land (the River Etherow). All very intriguing stuff, and has relevance for Part 2 of this Dark Age speculation – coming soon.

However, one small group of placenames got me thinking recently, and these are those that have a Scandinavian origin, and by Scandinavian I mean, essentially, Viking.

Soooo… Clan CG went on a week-long jaunt in Norway last summer. And wow, what a country! Beautiful, full of life and history, nature and culture… there is something about Scandinavia that really appeals to me. And at every stop (we hired a campervan) there was wild swimming. Marvellous stuff – the clean water of the fjords; fresh, invigorating, life affirming, health giving. I mean to say, not for me, obviously! I dipped a toe or two in… but brrr – far too cold! So I stayed on the bank and cheered on Master and Mrs CG, who seemed to enjoy it!

One of the places we visited was Trondheim, a lovely town right at the top of an enormous Fjord, next to an an enormous mountain; scale is a thing in Norway, and I’m sure these landmarks would be puddle and hillock respectively to the locals. We parked up a hill out of town and walked in, and as we approached a crossroads, my sherdy-sense tingled. No, not sherdy-sense, something else. And then I saw it… the road names. We were walking down “Langes Gate“, and we had just crossed “Storgata“, and before I knew what was afoot, my brain had forced out a mighty “what ho!” which might have alarmed the natives somewhat.

Langes Gate (Long Street), Trondheim, Norway.

Storgata (Big Street), Trondheim, Norway.

I recognised the word ‘gate‘ or ‘gata‘ from British placenames. Scandinavian in origin, meaning street or road, locally it can be found in Doctors Gate and Redgate, and this reminded me of a pet theory of mine, and I began to hastily scribble words down back in the campervan that evening, a glass of stuff that (expensively) cheers clasped firmly in hand.

Of those Domesday placenames I looked at, one really stuck in my mind, niggling with possibility. Truthfully, sometimes these things do, and I don’t know why; they shimmer and make a noise in my head, drawing attention to themselves more than others – I assume it’s my brain making connections, rather than an objective noise, but you never know… and once again, I feel I have overshared!)

Simmondley. First mentioned in the Forest Proceedings of 1285 as ‘Simundesleg‘, and then later as Simondeslee, the origin of the name is “the clearing (or ley/legh) in the forest belonging to a man named Sigemund (Old English) or Sigmundr (Scandinavian [Viking]): Simmondley. Ok then, so we have a possible ‘Viking’ name, but there is no evidence for Vikings hereabouts. Or is there? And this is where is started to get interesting.

The Vikings – and all manner of Scandinavian folk – first began raiding the coastlines of England en masse at the start of the 9th century. Eventually, the raiding stopped, and it became a steady flow of immigration, settlement, and farming – swords to ploughshares, and all that. It’s a big country, there was a lot of land, and so they stuck around, and in doing so they changed not only the language we use, but also the placenames of the area they settled – in particular, the area that became known as Danelaw – where they were allowed to keep following their own laws as long as they were loyal to English (Saxon) kings. The exact limits of Danelaw is a bit of an unknown, but it roughly stretched from Essex to Northumbria, and across to the Mersey – this is lifted from the Wikipedia page, and Danelaw is in red.

As you can see, whilst we are on the border, we Peak Sitters are still within Anglo Saxon (English) controlled lands, hence we don’t have many Scandinavian placename elements hereabouts, those name endings such as –thorpe –holme, –by, and -ton that are common enough just over in West Yorkshire, but not at all here. It has been suggested that the limit of Danelaw, whilst flexible, may have been the River Etherow and Derwent Valley, making us very much at the limit of Saxon land (If you are really interested, the always excellent before1066 blog has a great read about the Danelaw in our part of the world – you can read it here). But this area is firmly Saxon in language, and thus in placename.

Or so it seemed… and here it gets speculative.

Whilst the area was never settled properly, Sidebottom notes that a small number of areas in the Peak District have Norse derived placenames in their landscape, perhaps indicating the presence of settlers (Monyash, for example). These, he suggests, are Hiberno-Norse settlers – in essence, Vikings who had settled in Ireland, but were expelled from there in the early 10th century and settled in the area around Chester and the Wirral. From here, they moved east and were allowed land to the east of Manchester, specifically in the marginal western slopes of the Pennines. Hmmm… east of Manchester, in the slopes of the Pennines…. does that description sound familiar? Yeah, it rang a bell with me.

These were not true Vikings, and were actually 2nd or 3rd generation immigrants, but they would have spoken their language, and whilst they might not have named any existing settlements as such, they used their dialect words to name the elements of the landscape, and these don’t often change.

It was the origin of the placename Simmondley that initially rang the bell of possibility. It is first mentioned in the Forest Proceedings of 1285 as ‘Simundesleg‘, and then later as Simondeslee. The meaning of the name is “the clearing (or ley/legh) in the forest belonging to a man named Sigemund (an Old English name) or Sigmundr (a Norse name): Sigemund’s Legh = Simmondley. We assume it’s Saxon, because there are no Norsemen around here… but what if there were? And then the second bell was rung in Trondheim… Gate. In the Simmondley area, this is found as part of Hargate (as in Hargate Hill), but are there any other placenames of Norse origin in the Simmondley area, I wondered?… and promptly disappeared down a rabbit hole that I’m still not sure I have come out of!

So then, there are six Norse placename elements that occur in the Simmondley area:

Simmondley itself, we have already discussed, but its possible meaning is the ‘clearing in the woods belonging to Sigmundr‘. Sigmundr, and presumably his family, may well have arrived from Cheshire way, and cleared a smallholding in the woodland, where he would have set about naming things in his native tongue! Interestingly, Simmondley isn’t in the Domesday survey, possibly because it was simply a farm and too small to be recorded as its own settlement, so was just recorded under Charlesworth generally. We also need to realise that it may have only been in existence for 100 years in 1086, possibly even less.

Sitch – here used in Sitch Farm on Monks Road directly up from Simmondley. Sitch is derived from Old Norse ‘Sik‘ meaning a small stream, especially those flowing through flatland and marshy areas. It occurs elsewhere in Glossop: Wall Sitch by St James’ Church (discussed here), and Back Sitch, a footpath in Old Glossop.

Nab – here used in Whitley Nab. It is derived from the Old Norse ‘Nabbr‘ meaning a projecting peak or hill, which sums up the Nab perfectly. The Whitley (or Whiteley) part is presumably referring to a clearing; white here meaning without colour.

Royd – here used in Hobroyd. The word – meaning clearing – is not exclusively Norse, as it is found in Saxon places too: the root is the same for both German and Norse. But it is often used as evidence for Norse influence when found with other Norse placenames. Interestingly, the word ‘Hob’ here means a hobgoblin or other supernatural creature; Hobroyd is the ‘clearing belonging to the goblin‘. Bizarre.

Storth – here found in Storth Brook Farm and the adjacent Storth Brow Farm. The word Storth is Old Norse and means a young wood or plantation, possibly one planted.

Gate – here found in Hargate Hill Farm. Gate, from the Norse, Gata, meaning road.

This last one, the one that started this whole merry dance, is for me the cherry on the cake, and what just about convinces me. It gets its first mention as Hargatt in 1623 in the burial record of Widow Robinson. Now, 1623 is 650 years after the time we are talking about, but placenames stick around, and rarely change; this is why we call Glossop, Glossop: some 1000+ years ago, someone described the area as “oh, you know, Glott’s Hop“… and here we all are, on this website. Perhaps more importantly, church records only go back to 1620 in Glossop – very very late, but not uncommon, so 1623 is only the first mention we have, not when the place spring into being. ‘Gate’ makes sense, but the ‘Har’ element makes little sense, until we find in 1664 it is referred to as ‘Hardgate‘, and we see that this is probably the ‘correct’ name, and that all others are variants of this – the ‘d‘ being an obvious sound to drop.

This got me thinking: Hardgate… Hard Road? And then I realised that the Roman Road from Buxton passes through the area just west of the settlement. Was Hardgate referring to the ‘Hard Road’ of the only decent road in the area, a beautifully built and ‘hard’ surfaced Roman Road, as opposed to the muddy nightmare tracks that the rest of the area was filled with, and which even in the early 1800’s were still being moaned about? I wondered about the word Hard, and on a whim I entered the English word into Google Translate. Do you know what the Norwegian word for ‘hard‘, meaning solid or inflexible is?

‘Hard‘.

Hargate/Hardgate simply means the ‘Hard Road’ in Norwegian. I am convinced this refers to the Roman Road in their native tongue, and that convinces me that this whole ‘Viking’ enclave in Simmondley is a real thing. At least, I’m convinced… for now; I realise I’m not a placename specialist, and that this is something of a stretch. But c’mon…

So the next time you are in the Co-Op buying beans and some bread, remember: “We Gardena in geardagum, þeodcyninga, þrym gefrunon, hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon…” and all that!

Ok, so, I can already hear the army of linguists and placename specialists lighting torches and starting to yell. Truthfully, I’m out of my depth here, but I believe what I’ve written. If you know better, please let me know… I’m always happy to be wrong, as it’s how we learn. But more importantly, if you know of any other Norse placenames in the Simmondley area, please let me know. Part 2 of this post – coming soon – is even more contentious! And in between – probably – is another instalment of the Rough Guide to Pottery… I know you have missed it so. Although the screaming I’m hearing (and swearing… don’t think I can’t hear that too) is a little off-putting. But in l know you are only joking, so as a reward, I’ll put in extra photographs.

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

Your humble servant,

TCG

Domesday Book · Towns of Glossop

Glossop In The Domesday Book

February 15, 2020 Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

What ho, and all that.

Today’s post is one I have been meaning to do for a while – Glossop in the Domesday Book. I have been picking away at this one for a few months now, and finally I spent a bit of down time finishing it off. I must say I enjoyed writing it, and I really had to do some homework… which was fun. Hope you enjoy.

The ‘great survey’ of England (and parts of Wales) that would eventually become known as the Domesday Book was commissioned by William the Conquerer and completed in 1086. According to the Anglo Saxon Chronicle of c.1100, it was a survey of “How many hundreds of hides were in the shire, what land the king himself had, and what stock upon the land; or, what dues he ought to have by the year from the shire.“. In essence, what had William actually won in his new kingdom, and more importantly for him, how much he could make in taxes. I’m not a fan of old Billy, as you have probably guessed, and although Norman England brought with it some good, it also brought widescale changes throughout society – lay and secular – some of which were not particularly great. Academic argument rages, and will continue to do so, but I cannot forgive William the Bastard, as he was known (he was the illegitimate son of Robert I, Duke of Normandy, by his mistress Herleva), and even by the standards of his day he lived up to the other meaning of his name. But he did give us this unparalleled piece of historical evidence

Great and Little Domesday Books today bound in five parts: two (above) for Great Domesday and three (below) for Little Domesday; Catalogue reference: E 31/2/1-2 and E 31/1/1-3 — The Domesday ‘Book’, now in 5 volumes at the National Archives in Kew.

Actually, the survey was undertaken and published in 2 parts – the ‘Little Domesday’, which covered Norfolk, Suffolk, and Essex, and the ‘Great Domesday’, which covered the rest of England and parts of Wales. Incidentally, the title Domesday Book, though not contemporary, is derived from the fact that the details recorded in it were as serious and as unmoving as the decisions made by God on the Day of Judgement – Doomsday. Also, as an interesting aside, my grandfather told me that he once had reason to be working at the Public Record Office in London, and that whilst there he found himself in the storeroom where the Domesday Book was then being kept. With a pound note pressed into his hand, the guard on duty opened up the high security box, and allowed my grandfather to place his own hand on the actual Domesday Book. But I digress…

So then, Glossop and area in the Domesday Book. The reference within the book is in Derbyshire, Chapter 1 (Land Belonging to the King), paragraph 30, and comes under the heading ‘Longdendale’.

Here is the page:

Dom — The page from the book that contains Longdendale (top left)

And here is Longdendale as it was recorded in the book:

12973-1 — Here we are in the nearly 1000 year old book. Quite remarkable.

The above image is courtesy of this phenomenal website which has digitised the whole Domesday Book, with all sorts of notes and details. Go and explore this fascinating document, and priceless item of English history.

I’ll give you the complete transcription, translate, and then discuss what it means.

In LANGEDENEDELE. In Tornesete. Hb. Ligulf. iiii bov. Tre ad Gld. In Lodeuorde, Brun. iiii bov. tre. In Cheuenesuurde Chiseuurde. Suin. i car. tre. In Ceolhal. Eilmer iiii bov. tre. In Hetfelt iiii bov. In Padefeld. Leofing i car. In Dentine. Leofnoth. ii bov. tre. In Glosop Leuine. iii. bov. tre. In Witfeld. iiii. bov. tre. In Hedfelt Eilmer. iiii. bov. tre. In Chendre. Godric. ii. bov. tre. Int. oms. vi. car. tre ad gld. Xii maner. Wasta. e tota Langedenedele. Silua. e ibi n pastit apta uenationi. Tot viii. leg lg. iiii. lev lat. T.R.E xl. sol.

In Thornsett (Tornesete), Ligulf had 4 bovates of land that were taxable.
In Ludworth (Lodeuorde), Brown (Brun) has 4 bovates of land that is taxable.
In Charlesworth (Cheuenesuurde) and Chisworth (Chiseuurde), Swein (Suin) has 1 carucate of land that is taxable.
In Chunal (Ceolhal), Aelmer (Eilmer) has 4 bovates of land that is taxable.
In Hadfield (Hetfelt), Aelmer (Eilmer) has 4 bovates of land that is taxable.
In Padfield (Padefeld), Leofing has 1 carucate of land that is taxable.
In Dinting (Dentine), Leofnoth has 2 bovates of land taxable.
In Glossop (Glosop), Leofing has 4 bovates of land that is taxable.
In Whitfield (Witfelt), Leofing has 4 bovates of land that is taxable.
In Hayfield (Hedfelt), Aelmer (Eilmer) has 4 bovates of land that is taxable.
In Kinder (Chendre), Godric has 2 bovates of land that is taxable.

Phew! Right… so what on earth does that mean? Well, Longdendale (Langedenedele as the book has it) is first broken down into areas, then who owns these areas is recorded, followed by the amount of land that is taxable – the Domesday book is essentially a tax record of how much William stood to gain from the invasion, after all. However, here, recorded for the first time ever, are the names of the places we know well. And I am struck immediately by how similar they are… stick a decent Glossop accent onto them, and they haven’t changed at all – Whitfield and Hadfield in particular! And I love the Saxon names, too. Aelmer and Leofing are the big landowners around here with 1 1/2 and 2 carucates of land respectively, and so are probably quite wealthy and with good lands. Poor Godric is stuck out in the wilds around Kinder, where it is difficult to see where his 2 bovates of taxable land could be located. Which brings us on to the next question… what the hell is a bovate? Or, for that matter, a carucate?

They are both ancient measurements of land area. A bovate (also known as an oxgang) is technically the amount of land a single ox could plough in a single season – somewhere around 15 acres depending on land and animal. However, a plough is normally driven by a team of 8 oxen, and the amount this team could plough in a single growing season is known as a carucate. Thus, a bovate is one 8th of a carucate. Now, I struggle to picture area, so the idea of a large area defined by how much work an animal does is, quite frankly, baffling.

Following the register of places and taxes, there is a general description of the area.

Between them 6 carucates of land is taxable, and 12 manors

Each of the 12 manors (the areas named above) would have had a manor house to go with it, and one wonders where they are. I have a few ideas, but there is no way of knowing without excavation. One can imagine Leofing, beer cup in hand, sitting on a chair in the centre of his house – effectively a large open hall in which multiple people ate, drank, slept and lived around a central fire pit, the smoke from which would have dissipated amongst the thatch or turf roof, as there were no chimneys in the 11th Century.

Looking at the above map, I am struck by two things. Firstly, how almost all of the manors are situated on major roads (Whitfield is on the old road to Glossop, before it was diverted to what is now Glossop town centre), and how they are all still recognisable and distinct places. The one glaring exception is Kinder, which ceases to be a ‘place’ as such after the Medieval period; one presumes that it is in the area of the houses and farms on Kinder Road, but further research is needed.

Then there is the single word ‘Wasta’. Waste.

“All Longdendale is waste”.

Following the invasion of 1066, the North of the country – Cheshire, Derbyshire, Lancashire, Staffordshire, and Yorkshire – rebelled against the French king. William the Bastard chose to teach them a lesson over the winter of 1069-1070, and operated a ‘scorched earth’ policy of complete destruction of all villages, property, crops and people – the ‘Harrying of the North‘ as it is now known. There is some debate about the extent of the destruction, but there is no getting away from the fact that he utterly destroyed huge swathes of the North in revenge, and North Yorkshire in particular, with refugees from there mentioned as far away as Worcestershire. The effect was such that 16 years after the Harrying, Yorkshire had only 25% of the people and oxen that it had in 1066. The almost contemporary historian Ordericus Vitalis (basing it on contemporary descriptions) describes it thus:

“Nowhere else had William shown such cruelty… In his anger he commanded that all crops and herds, chattels and food of every kind should be brought together and burned to ashes with consuming fire, so that the whole region might be stripped of all means of sustenance. In consequence so serious a scarcity was felt in England, and so terrible a famine fell upon the humble and defenceless populace, that more than 100,000 Christian folk of both sexes, young and old, perished of hunger”

The word ‘Waste’ here in Longdendale is the result of this destruction – the valley, never particularly prosperous, or indeed populous, was laid waste… the Bastard burned the place to the ground. This is an astonishing fact, and that one word – waste – resonates. Indeed, as you read through the Domesday Book entries for the surrounding areas, the phrase crops up time after time “it is waste”.

Moving swiftly on.

Longdendale is then described as “woodland, unpastured, and fit for hunting” – which is better than some of the Trip Advisor reviews for places in Glossop – and the fact that it is “8 leagues long, and 4 leagues wide” (roughly 24 miles by 12 miles).

The entry in the Domesday Book finishes with letters “T.R.E. xl. sol.”. T.R.E. stands for ‘tempore Regis Edwardi’ – that is, in the time of the reign of Edward the Confessor, and refers to the worth of the land in the time immediately prior to the invasion. In 1066, Londendale’s worth (in terms of taxes) was 40 Shillings (represented in the book by the Roman numeral ‘XL’ for 40, and the abbreviation ‘sol’ for ‘solidus’ or shilling. 40 Shillings is not a lot, comparatively, and must surely represent the poor quality of arable land in these parts, as well as a lack of mineral resources.

Now, what is interesting, is what is left out. For example, there is no mention of people – freemen, villagers, smallholders, etc. – and we are left with the impression that there is no one here. Yet just over the hill, in Hope, we read that “30 villagers and 4 smallholders have 6 ploughs. A priest and a church to which belongs one carucate of land” and that “before 1066 these 3 manors paid £30, 5 1/2 sesters of honey, and 5 wagon loads of 50 lead sheets. They now pay £10 6s.” Clearly in Hope the invasion had had an effect – they now pay £20 less in tax, so one assumes there is less there now that is taxable – but there are people there, in 3 manors. So it seems odd, then, that Longdendale, despite having 12 manors, has no mention of people. It may be poor record taking by the surveyors, or it may be more sinister – Longdendale is the main route west out of Yorkshire, after all. The other oddity is that there is no mention of the church. It is possible that Glossop Parish Church is of Anglos Saxon origin, there is no evidence for this, and the lack of a mention in the Domesday Book is also quite telling. Which begs the question… where was the nearest church? Hope? That’s quite a journey to be made every Sunday, but I can’t think of anywhere else nearby.

So there we have it, Glossop’s debut in the historical record. One wonders where exactly Glossop was at the time – certainly not Howard Town, but perhaps Old Glossop. There is the suspicion that it may have been further out, toward Shittern Clough and Lightside along Doctor’s Gate, but again, we can’t be certain without excavation.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little romp around Early Medieval Longdendale, As always, any comments, questions – or even abuse from pro-Norman activists – are all very welcome.

Until next time, I remain.

Your humble servant,

Whitfield Cross

Whitfield Cross – Sort of Update

October 28, 2018November 2, 2018 Tim Campbell-GreenLeave a comment

A brief blog today…

Mrs Hamnett, Master Hamnett, and myself found ourselves passing through Macclesfield a few weeks ago. So I took the opportunity to visit the three splendid Mercian Round Shaft crosses that were erected in West Park there. I had tentatively suggested that one of them was a dead ringer for Whitfield Cross, and in a slightly better state of preservation. Definitely worth a closer look, and, of course, Master Hamnett was pleased as it means he got to go to the park.

The three cross shafts are located in the middle of the play area, and impossible to miss.

macc 1 — The Macclesfield Crosses, situated in the excellent West Park in town centre.

They were originally sited together at Ridge Hall Farm in Sutton (about a mile south of Macclesfield – here). Two of them were being used as gateposts, with iron and lead fixings carved into the stone, and the third was in a pile of rubbish. Their importance recognised, they were promptly moved to West Park, arriving there on 7th January 1858. Interestingly, Ridge Hall Farm was originally a moated farmhouse of medieval date – the remains of the moat can be seen in the aerial photograph above, circling the farm at the south and west.

Now, although the crosses were ‘found’ together, I don’t think that the farm was their original site, and it is likely that they had been moved there from points unknown. The probability of their movement is given evidence by the fact that the farmer had two cross shafts on his land, exactly the right width and in exactly the right location to form a useful gate. And by the fact that one of the crosses was “in a pile of rubbish” – such wording suggests it had been moved and discarded, perhaps awaiting employment as a fence or gate post. Also, whilst they occur in pairs (and the gatepost pair may well be an example of this), we know of no other examples of three crosses occurring together. However, caution should perhaps be urged here; with so few examples of this cross type surviving, we don’t have a huge body of evidence from which to draw comparisons or to make bold statements, and as the old archaeological dictum runs, absence of evidence in not evidence of absence. But in this instance, and on balance, I think it is likely they had been moved. Given that Ridge Hall Farm is not near any parish boundary, nor is close to a church, we might tentatively suggest that they originally marked the junction of tracks, as Whitfield Cross once did.

But I digress.

The one that resembles Whitfield Cross is on the left of the three in the above picture. In the Cheshire and Lancashire volume of Corpus of Anglo-Saxon Sculpture (website here) it is listed as Sutton (Ridge Hall Farm) 1, and dates it to 10th or 11th Century. Here is a close up.

macc 2 — The south-west side of the cross.

Although it is made of a similar stone, it is unclear if the cross base is original to the cross. I have to say, it looks like it might be, and if it is the case then we might suggest that this cross was in its original position on the farm. The other two crosses don’t have their bases, and it seems doubtful that the farmer would go to all the trouble of digging up the cross base, when he could just sink a hole and place the shaft that way. Also, if the other two had their bases, then the 19th Century antiquarians who were responsible for their movement would have taken them too.

The collar is of a very similar style to Whitfield – sloppily executed with a rough groove drawn around the neck, rather than two distinct bands.

macc 3 — The Macclesfield cross – note the collar.

Whitfield Cross – detail of the neck band. Similar in style to the Macclesfield Cross above.

I also suggest that the decoration which is missing from Whitfield would be of a similar nature to the Macclesfield example. Here is a closeup of the decoration. You can see what remains of decoration on the Whitfield example above and below.

The decoration is, with the eye of faith, just about visible. Compare with those below.

macc 4 — South west side, described in the Corpus as a “simple scroll, its three offshoots terminating in a triple round scooped leaves”. That looks about right.

macc 5 — North east side, described in the Corpus as “crossing two-strand interlace terminating in a Stafford knot with pointed terminals”.

macc 6 — South-east side – described in the Corpus as simply a “meander pattern”.

macc 7 — North-west side, described in the Corpus as “two-strand encircled twist, with two loose and inward-turning ends at the bottom of the composition”

So there you are. This is what I think a little better preserved Whitfield Cross would have looked like had the puritans and drunken louts of the 18th Century not got hold of it. Having said that, I recently read about people digging up roadside crosses because they believed treasure was buried beneath them, which is another reason these crosses are so rare. Bloody barbarians!

Anyway, I know this is a long way from Glossop, but I think it is important that the comparison with Whitfield Cross is made and explored… who knows, the same craftsman or woman may have carved the crosses. And it’s interesting nonetheless.

Next time, I’ll be a lot more local… very local indeed.

As always, any comments and questions are welcome. There really is quite a thriving community of people out there, and it’s great to hear from you all.

Your humble servant,